Swordsmen
by L. Mouse
Summary: COMPLETE! This is a crossover with Highlander. It's a story about love, and loss, and moving on, with Kenshin as an Immortal. And you get one guess what Kenshin's opinion of The Game is!
1. Chapter 1

Swordsmen

by

L Mouse

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When I first saw Kenshin, the idea for a crossover with it and Highlander occurred to me almost immediately. Kenshin and MacLeod are a great deal alike and both shows exist in worlds with very similar rules and story sensibilities. There really was very little I needed to change from canon in either world to write this.

The general premise is that Kenshin is an Immortal from the Highlander universe; for the Kenshin fans who are not familiar with Highlander, this means that he doesn't age after his first death and he won't die until someone cuts off his head. When an Immortal beheads another Immortal there's a great big show of fireworks and the surviving Immortal gets the other Immortal's power and knowledge. Immortals call this "The Game."

You get one guess what Kenshin's opinion of the Game is.

For reference, for Highlander fans, this is set very early second season of Highlander -- about a week before the episode "The Darkness" -- October, 1993. For non-Highlander fans, be aware that Tessa dies during the second season, unexpectedly. (The actress wanted to quit the show.)

Warnings: This story isn't "R" but it does contain some strong content because there's an original character who's a bit screwed up. No graphic sex scenes (at all) but quite a few references to subject matter not appropriate for kiddies and some off-screen implied smut in the final chapter. There's nothing in here that wouldn't appear in an ep of Highlander; some content would be a little stronger than what you'd see on Kenshin.

Ah, there's some strong language here and there.

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Richie hefted the cardboard box full of styrofoam peanuts up on to his shoulder and contemplated what could be done with them besides merely throwing them out. There was a good cubic yard's worth of packing peanuts in the box, just begging to be used for something.

Tessa had shoved the box at him and said, "Get rid of them."

But she hadn't exactly said how, though he knew she _meant_ dump the box and the peanuts in the Dumpster like a good boy.

Outside, it was raining; he was still mulling over the potential fun to be had with that many packing peanuts -- you could practically swim in the box -- when he heard Mac's car start. The Thunderbird was rather unmistakable. It had a throaty growl to it, with a faint underlying ping of aged valves.

He heard the tires squeal as he turned around to wave at Mac. The engine revved, and the car shot forward, and he saw a large amount of red hair behind the wheel. Not much else; the driver wasn't very big. A woman, maybe ... and one short enough to need a phone book to sit on.

He dodged aside, dropping the box. The Thunderbird hit it, and packing peanuts exploded airborne in a styrofoam blizzard.

Mac had apparently also heard his car start; he burst out of the shop with sword in hand. Mac swore in French and sheathed the sword in a fluid gesture, and then bolted in the opposite direction from the disappearing taillights of the Thunderbird.

Richie ran after him, but Mac was both far more fit and far angrier than Richie. Richie realized why Mac had run the other way as they burst out onto one of the one-way streets that filled this industrial district; there was only one really good way out of the neighborhood via these narrow streets and the driver would have to double back and come this way to make her escape. Given the driver's size, and the volume of very red hair he'd seen, Richie was figuring 'woman' was a good bet, if not 'child.'

Sure enough, the Thunderbird appeared in the distance -- and pulled briefly over to the curb. The driver apparently didn't see them -- her head was barely visible over the dash. It was not really a parking space, but Richie realized what the issue was when the driver's head disappeared below the level of the dash briefly -- very short driver, car previously driven by Mac, so the woman was adjusting the seat.

Because her head was down, she didn't see Mac immediately as Mac charged towards the car with Richie in hot pursuit -- but suddenly, the woman sat upright, then, in an impossibly fluid movement, vaulted completely out of the car, over Mac's head and landed _behind_ him.

Not a woman. A very short, and apparently extremely athletic man. Mac spun around, drawing his sword -- which surprised Richie, Mac didn't usually draw steel on mortals. He didn't need to.

"I am Duncan McLeod of the Clan McCleod ..." Mac said, assuming an aggressive stance, sword raised. "And you just stole the wrong car."

Oh. Apparently, this wasn't a mortal. It figured. The attempted theft of the car had likely been a ploy to piss Mac off and provoke him into a fight. It had, apparently, worked. Anxiously, Richie scanned the street for bystanders -- but they were alone; it was very early on a Saturday morning.

The red-haired man said something in a foreign language that sounded distinctly like an expletive, followed by a rather polite and understated -- if a bit stressed sounding, "This one has no _time for this!_"

Thick accent. Richie couldn't place it, though it sounded extremely familiar.

The man wore designer jeans, a silk shirt in a lush shade of purple, and a knee length brown leather duster. He reached over his shoulder and under the duster, and whipped out a Japanese sword of a similar length to Mac's own katana. Mac's aggressive crouch grew more pronounced.

The man moved, impossibly fast, faster than the eye could follow. He leaped airborne, twisted as he moved, and before Mac could even turn around, swung that glittering length of steel at Mac's neck. Richie yelped a warning, but too late -- the blade connected and MacLeod flipped backwards behind a Dumpster

"Mac! MacLeod!"

He expected to see fireworks. Oh, God, Mac had just been beheaded ... that had been a hell of a blow. The man had been moving with unbelievable speed.

The red-haired man vaulted back into the car, finished adjusting the seat in seconds, and roared away. He still could barely see over the dash. Richie dodged out of the way of the car, and with his heart in his throat, ran to Mac. No fireworks.

Not dead.

Well, yeah, dead. But not permanently so. Richie crouched beside him, noting Mac's neck had been broken by the force of that blow. It had creased his skin and raised a heck of a bruise, but it hadn't decapitated him. It wasn't Richie's heart in his throat anymore, now it was his breakfast. He swallowed hard, willed himself not to upchuck, and gently pushed Mac's head back in line with his neck. Wouldn't do for him to heal with his head on sideways or something.

Then he waited. Fortunately, it was early and the street remained mostly deserted. "Drunk." He explained, succinctly, to one person who pulled over to see if he needed help. He squatted on his heels against the building, wondering precisely how long he'd be waiting.

Minutes. Half an hour. Mac finally twitched, groaned, and put a hand to head.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Richie said,

MacLeod sat up and then accepted Richie's offer of a hand up. Mac looked like hell. Being killed could do that to a guy.

"Why didn't he take my head off?" MacLeod said, sounding stunned.

"You're okay!" Richie assured him, grinning with relief. It was one thing to know Mac couldn't be killed by anything short of beheading; it was another to actually _see_ it.

MacLeod said, after a moment of silence, "He took my _car_."

"He broke your neck with a backhanded blow and with both feet off the ground." Richie said, "Mac, I've never seen anyone move like that before. He was impossible."

"He was an Immortal." MacLeod said, as if that explained everything.

"_You_ don't move like that." Richie pointed out.

Mac probed his neck, found the bruises and the now nearly-healed gash, and winced and said, "I think he hit me with the dull side of the blade. Hard."

"Do you know who that was?" Richie asked, a logical question given that Mac had been around for four hundred years.

"No. I've never seen him before." Mac paused, and considered the question. "He's not very old or very powerful -- he hasn't taken many lives." Another pause. "I don't think it was an accident that he hit me with the dull side of the blade."

Not very old in Immortal years, Richie guessed. God only knew what that meant to a man who was four centuries old. And Mac was probably right -- if he'd wanted Mac dead, he could have whacked off Mac's head while MacLeod was down, and stuck around for the Quickening. Richie said, slowly, "He's got an accent. He's probably from another country."

"Perhaps." Mac frowned. He looked more troubled than pissed now, but Richie figured surviving a swordfight only because the other guy had hit him with the wrong side of the sword might do that to a guy.

--------

MacLeod's car didn't turn up, and they didn't hear anything from the redheaded warrior for nearly a week. Longer, in Richie's experience, than it would have taken the average Immortal-wanting-to-provoke-Mac to have done something unfortunately, like mail the Thunderbird back to Mac piece by piece. At least it wasn't anything _really_ important -- like Tessa. Immortals had gone after _her_ a few times, in much more successful bids to really and serious rouse Mac's temper.

Mac's opinion was that it might have been a genuine theft. At least, that's what he said.

"It's an old car, Richie. Easier to hotwire it." MacLeod had speculated, trying to explain the odds of one Immortal stealing another Immortal's car for any reason other than 'on purpose.'

Richie wasn't so sure. And he didn't think Mac was all that sure, either. He figured they'd find out sooner or later, if this was anything more than just an ordinary theft.

Still, he was surprised when the door opened on the shop early on the morning of the following Satuirday and the rather distinctive man stepped through the door. He was _very_ short -- perhaps five feet tall in his soft leather boots. The top of his head was well below Richie's shoulders. Red hair that would have made a shampoo model cry in envy tumbled in rich waves down the man's back. Bangs nearly covered the man's eyes -- when he walked quietly up to Richie and looked up, Richie was surprised by the man's eye color. Violet, with tints of amber. Very unusual.

He had a scar on his cheek, a cross, deeply sunk into skin. He'd been young when he'd died the first time, too -- he looked to be twenty at the most.

The man wordlessly held up keys.

"Who are you?" Richie grabbed the keys, guessing they belonged to the Thunderbird.

"Kenshin." The man said. "Kenshin Himura. And I apologize -- for the car. I damaged it when starting it, so the keys are for the new ignition."

His accent was _Japanese_, Richie realized, matching the name but not his rather striking appearance. Clairol and contact lenses, maybe? Richie guessed. Or not. The hair looked natural. The eyes looked like a special effect.

"You ought to apologize to Mac. It's his car." Richie said, letting his anger touch his voice. "You nearly killed him."

"This one trusts he is well now, this I do." The man said, eyes searching Richie's face. "I did not wish him to pursue me, and so a stopping blow was necessary. Our kind is stubborn, this I know."

"Yeah." Richie raised his voice, "Hey! Mac! Got a visitor!"

MacLeod appeared too quickly for Richie's warning to have been his first alert to Kenshin's presence. Right, the whole Immortal buzz thing. MacLeod had his naked sword in one hand. He said quietly, "Richie, step away from him."

"Your friend has nothing to fear from this one," Kenshin said. "I merely came to return your car, I did."

Richie held up the keys, stepping away as he did. "He brought keys, anyway."

"Duncan McLeod of the Clan McLeod, this one offers grave apologies for stealing your car. It was necessary, it was, and I hope the loss of it was not too inconvenient. I have brought it back in better condition than it left, and I ask forgiveness."

The speech was delivered quietly, humbly. Kenshin's eyes remained down, and his hands by his sides.

"You could have killed me," McLeod said -- rather calmly, to Richie's surprise, given that Kenshin had both stolen his car and broken his neck. "Why didn't you?"

Those odd violet eyes glanced up. Richie was surprised to see the depths of emotion there. Quietly, Kenshin said, "This one does not kill." Kenshin's mouth curled up in an ironic smile. "For our kind, I have amended that oath to be, _not permanently_."

McLeod made a skeptical noise. "Nice ideals. What are you going to do when someone comes after you and won't stop until you're dead?"

"I stop them." Kenshin said. Richie noted the tense --- 'I stop them' rather than 'I will stop them.' He didn't think that was a difficulty with the language. Kenshin's accent was thick, and his phrasing rather strange -- but he seemed to have a decent grasp of the English language overall. It implied he _had_ stopped other Immortals before. Given what Richie had seen of the man's fighting abilities, he suspected that was, indeed, a possibility.

McLeod regarded Kenshin for a moment, frowning, then said something in Japanese. The only word that Richie caught was, _'Samurai?'_

Kenshin's eyes lit up. A smile touched his lips, and he responded in kind. A rapid conversation followed. Obviously, Kenshin was much happier speaking Japanese than he was English even if he was reasonably fluent in the latter language.

Duncan relaxed, and slid his katana back in its sheath, as they spoke. Then Kenshin said something that made McLeod's eyes widen.

"You were born in the 1840s ...?" McLeod said, in English. In his surprise, he'd evidently forgotten what language to speak in. "Never, in all that time?"

Kenshin said something in Japanese that Richie thought was a negative.

More rapid discussion in Japanese. Mac laughed at something the tiny man said -- Kenshin sounded disgusted when he said it. Clearly, Mac had decided to like the other Immortal, theft of his car notwithstanding.

Richie ventured, "So, I take it you two aren't going to try to kill each other?"

Kenshin glanced at him, and then asked, "You do not speak Japanese?"

"Not the last time I checked." Richie snorted amusement at the thought. The extent of his foreign language knowledge was a few French swear words he'd picked up from Tessa and Mac, and some Spanish ones he'd learned on the streets.

"My profound apologies. It has been a weeks since I have heard anyone speak my own language, this is true. I did not realize you were not likewise as fluent as Mister MacLeod. I will speak English, I will. It has been years since I conversed often in English; I apologize much for any errors I make."

"Thanks." Richie blinked, unaccustomed to such courtesy from anyone, much less one of MacLeod's kind. Immortals, he'd learned, tended to be rather arrogant.

"I was just telling your _sensei_ that I am seeking a ... descendent ... of the only family I ever had." Kenshin's eyes glinted with more gold now than violet. His good mood vanished. The man had positively _freaky_ eyes, Richie realized. Also, being an Immortal was explanation enough for how a redhead spoke Japanese as a first language. Immortals were found, not born. Apparently the stork that delivered little Immortal babies must have gotten lost and dropped Kenshin off with the wrong family. It was as good an explanation as any. Or maybe he'd just been adopted.

"She's a runaway." MacLeod put in, apparently having gleaned that a minute ago when they were talking in Japanese.

"She was attending college here, then left word that she did not want to return to Tokyo. We have heard nothing since." Kenshin didn't sound upset exactly, but he was obviously worried. His eyes were expressive -- Richie realized this man was likely neither a good liar nor a good poker player. "I saw her, in a car, which was why I took Mister MacLeod's automobile last week. They evaded me, however."

Mournfully, the man added, "I promised my friends and family I would look after their descendents. I never thought there would be so many of them, or that I would live so very long, this I did not."

"So the girl does not want to be found?" Richie said, not liking the implication.

Kenshin cut his hand through the air in a negative gesture. "She was not driving. I wish only to find her and speak to her, alone, without any of her ... friends ... around her. If she wishes to remain here, I will not take her home against her will. But I worry about her, yes I do."

"So why would a Japanese assassin from the Meiji era refuse to kill?" MacLeod asked, as he headed into the shop's small kitchen. "Coffee?"

"Please. I have had little sleep for days, I have not." Kenshin said, then added, "I killed _many_ men, Mister MacLeod ..."

"Duncan. Or Mac." MacLeod interjected.

"Duncan. Killing ... it was ... necessary. I thought the Meiji revolution would lead to better things for my people. In many ways, it did. But once the fighting was over, I walked away from that life." He smiled. "My master said I was soft. Many people did. But not killing has served me well, I think. And I fear I shall lose myself to ... well, this one fears he shall be lost should he ever kill again."

MacLeod poured all three of them cups of coffee. "Sugar? Cream?"

"Black." Kenshin sipped his.

MacLeod regarded Kenshin over his coffee for a moment. Then, suddenly, his eyes widened. With something that sounded rather like profound respect to Richie's ears, he said, "You arethe _Battousai_ the Manslayer, are you not?"

Kenshin calmly tasted his coffee again before responding. "Once. I am, and have been for a very long time, _rorouni._"

"Wanderer." McLeod translated, for Richie's benefit. "_Battousi_ the Manslayer-- Kenshin is something of a historic figure, Richie."

MacLeod frowned, and muttered, "I thought the _Battousi_ would be _taller_."

Kenshin laughed, easily. "You are quite knowledgeable about your history, in addition to speaking excellent Japanese, Mister MacLeod. I am pleased to have met you, this I am."

"Mac knows about history because Mac _lived_ history." Richie said, snickering a bit.

Kenshin smiled at that, and then sobered and added in that mournful tone of voice, "And every generation, I seem to get shorter and people, taller. It was a problem, sometimes, in the time of my birth. In this day, the world is comprised of giants and I spend much of my time wishing for a ladder so I do not have to look up at the nose-hairs of my friends."

Kenshin's eyes were twinkling despite his serious voice tone. Richie laughed along with Mac, and Kenshin grinned.. The man's good humor was infectious. Richie didn't think he was bothering to conceal anything; for a century-plus year old Immortal, he had a certain unusual innocence.

"So," MacLeod said, "Kenshin. Will you accept our help to find your friend?"

"You would help this one?" Kenshin seemed floored by this. "But I stole your car!"

"Hey, stealing from Mac worked for ..." Richie ducked Mac's swat, "... me."

"Actually," MacLeod said, "Kenshin, I hope you won't be offended by this, but I'm a little reluctant to have a strange immortal running loose around my city, no matter what you say your intentions are. Particularly one that's as fast with a blade as you are. And if your girl's a runaway, Richie might be able to dig some information up on her -- he knows the streets around here."

Kenshin nodded politely. "I understand, Mister MacLeod. You cannot trust me. And, in truth, I cannot trust you, either. However -- I hope that we may become friends someday, this I do."


	2. Chapter 2

-1

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Chapter 2

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Author's Notes: Thanks to everyone who corrected my spelling; as I noted, I'm new to this fandom. (And also dyslexic!)

And thanks for the feedback, to everyone who gave some on the last chapter. The last story I posted here (under another handle) I got NO feedback on. I appreciate the warm fuzzies a lot -- it means way more than you know.

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"So what's your friend's name?" Richie asked, hurrying to keep up with Kenshin as they headed for one of the city's rougher neighborhoods. For a little guy, Kenshin could flat move.

"Heather Sagara." Kenshin said, glancing up at Richie.

Richie was mildly surprised that Mac had sent him off _alone_ with a strange immortal. However, he had a sneaking suspicion that MacLeod was doing research on Kenshin somehow -- maybe calling around to some of his friends to see what he could turn up. Mac was supposed to meet them for lunch, later. And it wasn't like Kenshin had any reason to hurt him -- and if he'd wanted to kill Mac, he could have done so last week.

He didn't exactly feel threatened by Kenshin, anyway. Though somehow, he also never wanted to cross the man. Kenshin was just too ... confident. Not arrogant, and he hadn't bragged once, but he exuded a certain confidence out of every pore of his small frame that said he _knew_ he could beat the crap out of anyone in the world, and therefore wasn't threatened by anyone.

"Heather?" Richie prompted.

"It's actually ..." Kenshin said, and the name he provided was Japanese and had altogether too many syllables for Richie to possibly remember or spell. "She renamed herself Heather when she came to the US."

"I can see why!"

He halfway expected Kenshin to be offended by that. But Kenshin merely grinned. "Yes. Though her parents were unhappy. They are concerned that she is ... ashamed, somehow ... of what she is."

Kenshin shrugged. He didn't seem overly worried by the girl's name change. "I have been called by more than one name over my life. Names matter. But it is her choice to bear an American one."

"Is it possible she just doesn't want to go home?" Richie asked.

Kenshin nodded. "This is a possibility I have considered. She is much like her ancestor Sanosuke. She has a warrior's spirit, that she does. College was perhaps not the best choice for her, but her parents wished her to be a doctor and -- they sent her abroad. Not, I believe, because she needed to study abroad. There was a young man they did not approve of ... I have been expecting her to rebel, I have."

There was an unspoken, "But ..." there.

After a moment, Kenshin added, "She has not responded to my e-mails or calls. She has never ignored me before, she has not."

"You think she would respond to you?" Richie said.

Kenshin contemplated that for a long minute. Finally, he said, "One would hope."

"So she's got pushy parents?" Richie prompted.

Kenshin made a noise that sounded like an affirmative.

"You don't like them much." Richie guessed.

That got him a look that held just a tint of amber in those lavender eyes. Almost veiled, there was a hint menace. Richie stepped sideways, suddenly remembering what Immortals could be like. Dangerous. Deadly.

Then Kenshin blinked and his expression was much more neutral. "I am sworn to protect Heather's mother. And Heather. And their ancestors and descendents."

Right. Richie did some math in his head, figured that there were four or five generations in there, figure two or three kids at a minimum average for each generation, maybe more before the advent of birth control, and gave up on the number pretty quickly. Math? Not his friend. But _lots_ of descendents. And he'd said friends, plural, to start with. Presumably great-granddaddy Sagara and someone or someones else. Assuming most of the last two or three generations worth of descendents were still alive, that was an awful lot of people for one man to be responsible for.

Full time job, easily. And the benefits probably sucked.

Richie prompted, "Sworn to protect, but ...?"

"I am not sworn to protect that fool that Heather's mother married." Kenshin finally growled. "There are times I regret my vow."

His vow not to kill, Richie thought. Richie sneaked a glance down at the man, hoping he was joking. He thought -- yes, Kenshin's expression was sourly disgusted, but not homicidal.

"This one hopes very much he gets hit by a _truck_ and leaves this world." Kenshin added, mouth curving up into a grin.

Richie laughed. Okay, now he officially liked the guy. "That bad?"

"Yes. If Heather does not want to return to Japan, or to her studies -- I will respect her choice. I merely wish to know she is safe, I do." Kenshin sighed heavily. "Were I in her shoes, I would have done the same, truth told."

"So tell me about the vehicle you saw her in, and the people. Maybe I know who she's hanging with." They'd reached a corner, and waited for the light to change.

"It was a Ford truck, with custom chrome on it, it was." Kenshin said. "Metal blue. The driver was a white man."

"Boyfriend?" Richie speculated.

Kenshin's shrug indicated he didn't have any idea at all. "He was older than she is, but this does not mean anything. I was older ..."

He trailed off, eyes suddenly very sad.

"Hey. You okay, man?" Richie said, somewhat concerned.

"Old memories." Kenshin's smile was wry now. "One of the dangers of being as old as I is that one has time to accumulate many sad memories. Her name was Kaoru. And -- yes, I was older than she."

Kenshin paused, then added, voice sad again, "But there are many happy memories, also. If -- if the man I saw with Heather was a boyfriend, I will not interfere. However, he would not stop and Heather was arguing with him. They lost me on the freeway when your friend's car ran out of gas."

"Truly, I will not interfere, if they wish to be together. It is unfortunate that he did not want to stop." Kenshin paused, then muttered something under his breath that sounded distinctly like, "... pill ..."

"Yo! Richie!" They were hailed as they crossed the street.

Richie waved at the woman who'd called his name. This was his old neighborhood; the woman was a tough looking lady with a guitar slung over her shoulder. "Carla! Oh, good, you were one of the people I was looking for!"

She said, "What's up? And who's your friend?"

She was giving Kenshin a distinctly appraising look; Richie wasn't surprised. Kenshin had a presence that was larger than life. And the hair didn't hurt. Just how much a year did the guy spend on hairspray and conditioner and mousse, anyway? Anyway, he was striking in appearance and no doubt had plenty of luck with the ladies.

"This is Kenshin Himura." Richie introduced him. "He's looking for a family friend who's gone missing. Kenshin, this is Carla. She's good people."

"Sometimes kids run away for a reason," Carla said, somewhat warningly.

Kenshin said quietly, "I simply wish to know that Heather is well, and safe. Once upon a time, I was a runaway too. And before that, I was an orphan, I was."

That was probably the best thing Kenshin could possibly have said to Carla, who tended to be suspicious of strange men. Having spent a significant amount of time on the streets, Richie knew exactly why she felt that way -- though she really ought to have figured out by now that he was at least as suspicious as she was, and he wouldn't be helping someone who he mistrusted. (And Richie had decided that Kenshin was, if certainly not harmless, at least not an overt threat at the moment.)

Carla relaxed a bit, and said, "Do you have a picture of her?"

Kenshin nodded gravely, and reached inside his duster. He produced a wallet and opened it to reveal that it was stuffed with photographs. He flipped through the photographs -- Richie noted some were new, some were old, and many featured Kenshin in groups of people, often with a child on his shoulders or in his arms. This was not a man who was isolating himself from the world, as Richie had learned many 'good' Immortals did. He had friends and 'family' and people he loved and people who loved him.

One particularly amusing picture had Kenshin wearing Pippi Longstockings braids, kneeling, apparently playing at a tea party with a little girl -- both of them were sitting before a matt that had miniature tea-cups and a tea-pot on it. And there were dolls. Kenshin had apparently not planned on being photographed and he was glaring so hard at the camera that it was a wonder the film hadn't spontaneously combusted. The girl was laughing and clapping her hands.

He showed the picture to Carla, "This is Heather when she was young."

Carla glanced at Kenshin. Kenshin had a poker face on, as if daring her to comment on the somewhat embarrassing content of the photo. Richie abruptly revised his estimate of Kenshin's ability to hide his emotions if he needed to. Carla didn't say anything, but she shot him a sharp look.

He flipped through the pictures some more, and found another. He handed his wallet to Carla, the thick collection of pictures open to the right picture. "This is Heather about a year ago, before she came to America for a year of studies abroad. She's a couple years away from being a doctor, if she returns to her studies."

The grown-up Heather was very different from the giggling five or six year old kid in the first picture. Now it was Heather who glowered at the camera. She was dressed conservatively, businesslike, but Richie noted she had a gold stud in her nose. Her arms were folded, and she had a suitcase at her feet. She was thin -- too thin, really -- and she'd put gold streaks in her dark hair.

"She sure doesn't look happy." Carla handed the wallet to Richie, apparently noting he was looking too. Kenshin's wallet was _stuffed_ with cash, Richie realized -- both green American dollars and multicolored foreign notes. He handed the wallet hastily back to Kenshin, who pocketed it quietly.

Kenshin sighed. "No. She was not happy. Leaving Japan was none of her idea; she had a lover she did not want to leave. He ended the relationship when her parents forced her to come here. This is, I suspect, what they wanted."

"She's beautiful." Carla said, frowning at Kenshin. Richie realized she was suspicious again.

So, apparently, did Kenshin. He eyed Carla for a moment, then said quietly, "She's like a niece to me. I know what you are thinking, I do, but I am an honorable man and she is the child of family. She need fear nothing from me."

Kenshin's quiet dignity and calm acknowledgement of Carla's concerns apparently eased her fears a bit. She nodded. "I think I might have seen her around, though Kenshin -- the girl I'm thinking of may not be the girl you remember."

He shrugged. "I swore I would find her and ensure her safety."

Melanie still hesitated.

Richie spoke up, "Aw, c'mon Cal, Kenshin's okay."

Melanie gave him a sharp look, then said, "Try the Indigo Gardens Hotel, down by the YMCA. She might have a room there, with Shark."

Ouch. Richie winced. He now had a good idea what Melanie meant what she had said that the girl might not be the girl that Kenshin remembered. Shark was not good news.

"Do you know this hotel?" Kenshin asked.

"Yeah. Stayed there, for awhile. It's cheap." 'Cheap' was about the only positive thing that Richie could think to say about the Indigo Hotel. He distinctly remembered roaches the size of cigars.

------

The Indigo hadn't changed much since Richie had stayed here about a year before. He figured at one point or another he'd crashed in every bad hotel and rooming house in the city -- he'd never liked to stay in one place more than a few days. Living as a thief, and being underage, had made him very wary.

Kenshin frowned, staring at the building. It was a sagging wood and stucco building that had likely been sleazy even when new. In front of it, a couple of the resident hookers were smoking. A bit early to be 'on the job' -- they were just hanging out, he thought, probably waiting for their pimp to pick them up and take them up to the convention center where the businessmen would give them ample business. He gave them a good look and verified that neither was Kenshin's Heather, but he knew both of them.

"Hey Richie! That old man of yours finally kick you out?" One of the women -- her name was Lisa -- waved at him as they jaywalked across the street.

"Nah. And he's not my old man!" Lisa did _not_ mean 'old man' in the 'father' sense. He blushed.

"Or maybe Richie's just found someone new. And he's fiiiine looking!" The other -- Ginger -- giggled.

"I'm not gay!" Richie protested, sputtering in outrage.

Kenshin snickered, surprising Richie. He didn't seem upset by the insinuation that he and Richie were here for a date. Richie wondered if he _was _gay; he hadn't seen any clues either way. No, wait, he'd mentioned a girlfriend. Kaoru. And it had been a very somber mention, too, implying a terribly broken heart on Kenshin's part. So, probably not gay.

"We're actually looking for my ... niece. Her name is Heather Sagara." Kenshin said, politely. "Do you ladies know her?" He gave the hotel, and the girls, a doubtful look. "She is supposed to be staying here ..."

"Sure. She's Shark's girl. 305." Lisa said. "She's here now, I think -- I just saw her go up about an hour ago."

"Thank you, very much." Kenshin bobbed his head at them in a small bow. "I have searched for weeks, but I did not think to look in so low a place. It will be a relief to find her."

"Hey, if you boys want a party later ..." Lisa offered. Richie had been expecting this; he'd been surprised that they hadn't been trying to hustle a 'party' from the beginning. Kenshin dressed like he had money. "Both of us. Make you a deal!"

Kenshin said, "I am afraid my heart belongs to only one woman. I am honored by what you offer, but cannot accept."

This got a giggle from the girls -- Richie was surprised they didn't mock Kenshin for that, but he'd actually sounded rather sincere when he said it.

As they walked away, Richie heard Lisa mutter to Ginger, "With an ... uncle ... like that, what's she doing with Shark?"

She _perfectly_ matched Kenshin's hesitant intonation of 'niece' that had implied he wasn't being entirely truthful. Kenshin stopped and shot a dark glare over his shoulder at her, and she shut up, giggles abruptly cut off. After a moment, she said, "Sorry."

Wow. Richie wished he knew how a guy that short and that pretty could look that dangerous. And he turned it on and off like a switch!

The elevator, surprisingly, was working. It stunk like gym socks and piss, but it rattled upwards to the third floor without incident. The hall itself was ill lit, and a puddle of a substance best left uninvestigated stained the carpet in front of room 301.

Kenshin paused, then reached back and loosened the collar of his duster a bit. Richie got a brief glimpse of a worn hilt, hidden under the long leather coat. Kenshin's sword.

"Stay here." Kenshin pointed at the stained carpet at Richie's feet. "She is not alone in the apartment, she is not."

How Kenshin knew that, Richie didn't even want to guess.

Kenshin knocked politely on the apartment door, which was a good fifty feet down the hall. After a moment, the door opened.

It was Heather Sagara -- though she'd dyed her hair completely blond, and she was even thinner than in the photographs.

"Uncle Ken ..." She seemed astonished to find him there. She stared, for a moment, blinking, "What are you doing here?"

"I was worried, I was." He said, simply.

She took a step out into the hall and the door clicked shut behind her. "You shouldn't have come here."

Kenshin's back was to Richie, but he could already picture the abashed grin on the man's face. He ran a hand over his red hair and said, "You should have answered this one's e-mail."

"I had to sell my computer. I'm sorry, Uncle Kenshin. I really am."

He held his arms open, and she hugged him, hard enough to make Kenshin grunt. After a moment, she stepped back, and sighed, "You should not have come here, Kenshin."

Richie, seeing no fight was forthcoming, stepped closer. Kenshin's voice was soft, almost plaintive, "Is Miss Heather mad at this one?"

"Oh, stop that," she said, sounding irritated. She folded her arms. "You speak better English than that. You're just being ... Kenshin."

Richie was now up beside the two of them and could see a bit of amber glint in the man's eyes. Richie turned his attention to the girl as Kenshin responded, "Well, I _am_ Kenshin, after all. And Heather, you are unwell."

She was _extremely_ thin, Richie realized. Skin and bones, with a small t-shirt hanging loose on her narrow shoulders and jeans a few sizes too large bunched around her waist by a belt that had new holes punchedin it. The whites of her eyes were yellow, and her lips were chapped, and there was a oozing sore on one arm that looked old and infected and picked at. He figured he knew exactly what 'sickness' this girl had, and it wasn't one you caught from germs.

"I'm fine." She hugged herself, "I'm sorry you've come so far, Kenshin. But go away now. I'm not going back with you."

"Do you ... need ... anything?"

A brief laugh, from the girl. Richie's balled his fists in anger; he knew what was coming next. She said, as he'd expected, "They're throwing us out if we don't pay today."

"How much?" Kenshin's calm was contagious; the girl relaxed a little.

"A hundred, to pay up for the last week. And there's no food, Uncle Kenshin. We've been eating at the soup kitchen."

"I will pay for your board." Kenshin said, quietly. "But I will not give you money."

Richie gave Kenshin a sharp look. So the man was quite a bit more street smart than he looked. Pretty boy like that -- well, he'd probably earned his street smarts the hard way since he'd said he was an orphan and a runaway. Richie supposed it didn't matter the century; people were always the same. And addicts probably hadn't changed much over the years either.

She said shortly, "You can give me the money. I'll take it down later."

"No." There steel and resolve behind that one word. "I will pay for you, and you will have a room here until tomorrow, when we will find a better apartment for you. This place does not suit Miss Heather, it does not."

"For food, then." She sounded whiny.

Kenshin reached for his wallet, and Richie's heart sank. Any money given this girl would be wasted. Then he fought down a laugh when Kenshin opened it, fished through the thick wad of cash with his fingers, and produced a wad of gift certificates. So some of the color he'd seen mixed in the with green earlier hadn't all been foreign money, and this man was no fool at all. The girl looked like she'd unexpectedly swallowed a lemon and she glared at Richie, not liking the amused sound he'd made at all.

Kenshin's smile was angelic. He peeled off and handed the girl three gift certificates for McDonalds, Denny's and Arby's. "For food. I'll give you more, later, Miss Heather."

"Kenshin ..." she whined. She looked at the gift certificates. The McDonalds and Arby's vouchers were for $5 each, the Denny's was for $8. Richie didn't think she'd even be able to sell them for enough money to get a hit, since they wouldn't sell on the street for nearly the face value. "At least, more ..."

"No." Kenshin's words held no anger. "I ..."

The door opened, just as the girl interrupted, "You've _got_ money, Kenshin! I need money! Please ..."

The person opening the door was a scrawny, greasy blond man. Not as old as Kenshin had implied, Richie didn't think -- just well used.

"Heather, who are these people?" The man's words were openly aggressive, and he glowered at them. He had a bad odor, stronger even than the stink of the hall. He smelled like an unwashed armpit.

"My ... uncle." Heather introduced Kenshin, "Kenshin Himura. And I don't know who his friend is."

The man -- his name on the street was Shark -- frowned at Richie. Richie glared back. They'd met before, occasionally. Shark had been a fence, though Richie thought he'd gone a bit downhill in the last few months. If he couldn't pay his thieves because all his money was going into a needle ... "Richie Ryan. He's a thief."

Richie shrugged, not denying it.

"Money, eh?" The man glared at Kenshin. "He's a bit of a shrimp, Heather."

Richie saw it coming even before the man made a sudden lunge. Shark grabbed Kenshin's arm, presumably planning to liberate him of said money. To Richie's surprise, Kenshin didn't immediately pull away. He stood very still, glaring up at the man.

"Maybe your uncle ought to help us out." The man started to reach his other hand for Kenshin's wallet.

Kenshin moved in a blur. Richie would have loved to have seen a slow motion replay of that attack. Shark flipped airborne over Kenshin's shoulder and hit the wall; Kenshin's sword was in his hand by the time the man hit the ground. Another blur, and a solid _thwack_, and the man lay groaning and doubled around his ribs.

And not dead, despite the blow -- he was not bleeding, though Richie wouldn't be the slightest bit surprised to learn that Shark had broken ribs. Richie glanced at the sword, and frowned. He'd seen enough Japanese swords in Mac's collection to realize that the sharp edge was reversed. This was a sword designed to bruise and stun, not slash and kill.

Kenshin put the sword away and said, "Miss Heather, you are more worthy than this life. You dishonor yourself."

He turned, then, and walked away. Richie snorted, "He's right, you know."

Because he was still facing Shark, he saw the motion. The man pulled a gun out, and with shaking hand, aimed it down the hall. Richie shouted, "Look out!"

Richie dodged aside, taking Heather with him. She weighed absolutely nothing, and smelled of old sweat and chemicals. The gun's report was deafening in the narrow confines of the hallway. Richie had no doubt that Kenshin could have dodged a bullet if he'd seen it coming, but the man was Immortal, not invincible, and Kenshin had probably assumed his opponent was unconscious. Kenshin grunted at the impact of the bullet and then he went down, hard.

Richie was only a few feet from Shark -- he lunged forward, kicked hard, and the gun went flying. Richie snarled, "Asshole!" and kicked him again, this time in the head. His heart was racing, and his blood buzzing in his ears. It took him a moment of hard breathing to summon enough calm to even think after that. How the heck did MacLeod _do _it -- fight for his life and walk away calm and cool?

He turned, expecting a mild, "I shall be okay, Mister Richie ..." or something similar from the little Immortal. Nothing; Kenshin lay motionless. Blood drained -- not pumped -- from a gunshot wound in his chest. It was just a hint to the left of dead center, all the way through, big fist sized hole for an exit wound in Kenshin's back when Richie rolled him over. The man's silk shirt was shredded.

"Crap." Kenshin had probably been dead -- in the heart-stopped-beating sense -- before his body had dropped to the floor.

"Uncle KENSHIN!" Heather wailed, running to him. She dropped to her knees at Kenshin's side, and turned to glare at the unconscious body of her boyfriend. Tears streamed down her narrow, underfed features. "Shark, you killed him!"

"He ever tell you what he is?" Richie asked, conversationally, as he strode over and yanked her back to her feet by one arm. "We need to get out of here. The cops'll be called, for sure."

He'd rather not be in the area when they showed up. He wasn't sure if MacLeod could get him off an assault rap, and he'd just kicked Shark's head like a football. That Shark had a weapon likely wouldn't matter to the police, given Richie's own track record with the cops.

Besides, getting Kenshin out of the morgue later might be awkward.

She blinked at him. "He's dead. Because of me!"

Apparently, Kenshin hadn't seen fit to share all the details of his immortality with his family. Richie sighed and tried to pick the man up. Kenshin was a _lot_ heavier than he looked; he was short, and he looked slender, but the muscles under that tattered and blood-soaked silk shirt were very solid. It took three tries to sling the man over his shoulder; blood trickled hot and sticky down Richie's back. His stomach churned at the wet heat of it, and the meaty smell.

"Let's go!" He grabbed Heather by the wrist, and lumbered under Kenshin's weight for the fire escape stairs at the end of the hall.

She was sobbing as she chased after them, "Uncle Kenshin!"

"Oh, shut up!" Richie told her, letting her catch up, then shoving her ahead of him when they reached the exit. They burst out into an alley.

"I ... he's dead ..." She backed away, suddenly, eyes wide. "It's my fault. He's dead!"

Richie wasn't the slightest bit surprised to see her run away. She bolted, disappeared around the corner. He felt a little sorry not to have let her know that Kenshin would be fine -- but only a little.

"Fuck." Richie said, and headed in the other direction. "So Kenshin, how long does it take a 130 year old Immortal to recover from a bullet to the heart?"

No answer from Kenshin. Apparently, the answer was, "Awhile."

----------

MacLeod jumped a bit when the phone rang. His nerves were on edge, and he didn't entirely know why. Trouble coming, maybe. He picked the phone up, and said, "MacLeod."

"Mac!" The voice was familiar as that of a brother. "Heard you were trying to find me?"

"Conner." MacLeod was relieved that word had finally gotten to his clansmen -- he'd been calling various friends for most of the morning, tracking the older Immortal down and incidentally asking around about Kenshin. A few people were aware of the man, but none had met him. He was apparently something of a vague legend -- a Japanese guy who wouldn't play the game was the most anybody knew. He said, "Yes. I'm glad you called. It's nothing serious, I don't think, but I'd like to know if you know someone."

"Somebody after you?"

"Probably. Isn't someone always?"

A laugh, from Conner, which made MacLeod grin. "Seriously, though, I don't think this man's after my head -- but were you aware that Hitokiri Battousai is an Immortal?"

Silence, for a moment, then a snicker from Conner. "Ye-es. So you've met Kenshin?"

"Yes. Good, I've been trying to find out more about him." MacLeod said. "He's an odd one."

"It's been decades. I'm amazed he's still in the game." Conner's voice still held a large amount of amusement, and, if MacLeod read his clansmen right, fondness too. "How much trouble has the little runt brought with him? And is he still carrying that stupid katana?"

"The _sakabato_? Yes." MacLeod said. He wasn't about to admit just how well acquainted he'd become with that reversed-blade sword. "Though I wouldn't describe it as exactly 'silly' given the way he can wield it. What's this about trouble?"

"Kenshin and chaos follow each other like thunder after lightning." Conner was serious now. "Mac, if Kenshin's in town, be _careful_." Conner paused, then added, "He's serious, by the way, about not killing anyone."

"Permanently." MacLeod's neck was still a bit sore.

"Well, yes. If he runs into another Immortal who wants his head, he'll stop them at any costs, and stopping them usually involves maiming if he can't bring them over to the side of the what's warm and fuzzy. I swear to God, Mac, there's at least a couple formerly evil Immortals who've taken up the priesthood because of that guy."

MacLeod laughed openly now. "He's that dangerous?"

"Oh, yeah. The man's damned menace to the Game." Conner said, sounding almost indignant. "He's about as unconventional as that sword he carries."

At that moment, the front door of the shop burst open and Richie stumbled in with a bloody, red-haired carcass slung over his shoulder. Richie was breathing hard, covered in gore, and he looked rather green around the gills. Kenshin wasn't breathing at all, and blood had dripped down his chest, across his face, and saturated his ponytail. MacLeod raised an eyebrow, and said to Conner, "Conner, call me back later. Apparently, somebody just succeeded."

"Huh?"

"In killing Kenshin. Not fatally, just a flesh wound." MacLeod said, watching as Richie staggered across the antique store (thankfully, there were no customers to scare) and towards the back.

Conner spluttered, then said, "If anyone killed that man, it's because he _let_ them."

"Later, Conner." MacLeod hung up the phone and followed Richie -- and he raised his voice, when he realized where Richie was headed. "Richie! Not _my_ bedroom, he's covered in blood!"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

------------

Author's note:

I do apologize for misspelling character names and whatnot.

Thank you for all the feedback. For what it's worth, I've got the DVDs arriving today (hopefully) and I think I'll order the manga as well in the near future. Next paycheck.

As far as crossovers go -- this is actually a fairly easy world to do a crossover in, and I'm a bit surprised that there's only one other story out there with this cross. The two worlds are very similar.

The _hardest_ part of this is that canon Kenshin on the show, as much as I adore the character, has some significant Mary Sue tendencies to begin with. (I hope I don't offend anyone by saying this ... LOL) It's been a bit of a challenge to keep him in character without turning him into a major league great big fat stinking Mary Sue when contrasted with MacLeod and Richie. He only works on the show because it's so well written.

Love the guy. But he's a HARD character to write in a crossover, for that reason. I rewrote a scene in Chapter 4 three times because of Kenshin Sue tendencies in it, and I'm still not happy with it.

-----

Soft, diffuse white light surrounded him. He was warm, didn't hurt. This was a good place.

Kenshin blinked, and realized he'd died again as a figure appeared in the distance. She walked closer, stride confident, a grin on her face. With a laugh she said, "Not again!"

"Kaoru!" He folded her into a hug, utterly relieved that she was here -- and that he was here too, even for a little bit. Her hands slid around him, pulling him close, then one rose to stroke his ponytail.

She felt so real. He could smell her -- soap and sandalwood. Could feel her, in his arms -- hard muscles under womanly curves, breath whispering against his cheek. Her hands were cool, calluses catching just a bit on the silk of his shirt as they roamed up and down his back. She leaned back to kiss him a greeting, and for a long moment, he lost himself in the embrace.

She stepped back, finally, hands still resting on his hips. She wasn't going to let go of him for anything until they were torn apart again. She murmured, "You can't stay, can you?"

God, how he'd missed Kaoru.

"No." He murmured, rubbing her cheek with his thumb. "Kaoru ..."

She stroked a long lock of hair that had escaped from his ponytail. "It's okay. I know you still have things to do in the world. You don't belong to just me."

"Kaoru, I miss you so much." Already, he could feel the tug at his soul that said he would not be allowed to remain. He only had a little time before he would be yanked away.

"What happened this time?" She asked. The last time he'd been here had been an automobile accident, of all improbable things.

"I didn't duck fast enough."

The look she gave him was amused. "Sure you weren't just feeling a bit lonely, love?"

"Well, yeah." He admitted. "And it served my purposes. And there was an apartment at the end of the hall and people behind the door, in line with the shot. I didn't want to risk them getting hit."

"You're a sucker, you know that?" Kaoru said, fondly. "You've got that look in your eyes, Kenshin Himura."

"What look?" He tried for an innocent tone.

She giggled. She knew him too well. Knew that he was going to be mulishly stubborn about saving this kid, that he didn't want to lose, and that he'd put the same effort into saving her that he'd put into a few sword battles ages ago.

He still wasn't sure _which_ of those sword battles had resulted in his first death -- though he had a good idea that it was the one with Shojiro, in the refinery. He'd seen the light on that one, and turned back. At the time, he'd been sure it was force of will, a profound desire to live -- to return to Tokyo with the woman before him, who still had her hands on his hips and who was grinning at him teasingly.

Later, years later, he'd realized he couldn't die and wasn't aging.

His first death could have been earlier than that, though -- dying in any one of a dozen battles that he'd fought as a teenager would have explained why he'd never grown taller than five feet even, and why he looked like he was fifteen. Some of those battles, he couldn't even _remember_ -- those had been dark days indeed. Though he'd gotten scars, afterwards, and he didn't scar now unless it was a hell of a wound. He just wasn't sure.

He'd spoke to other Immortals about this. They were all _sure_ of when they died. He honestly didn't know. This amused him, in a blackly humorous way. He'd sure lived a hard life.

"Heaven to Kenshin," Kaoru said, amused. "About time for you to go back, don't you think?"

"I miss you, Kaoru." He caught her hands and earnestly searched her face. "I'd find you, I would, if your time in the world would only come around again."

He'd suggested this before -- and her only response had always been an enigmatic smile. This time didn't seem any different, at first, then she said, "I love you, Kenshin. And -- you won't be alone in saving the girl this time."

He eyed her suspiciously. She gave him an utterly innocent smile, and repeated, "Time to go back, Kenshin Himura."

He hugged her again, burying his face in her hair, pulling her close, not _ever _wanting to let go. But he felt the tug at his soul and it was time to return and now he had no choice. With a small cry of protest, he felt her fade, felt life return and heaven disappear.

"You know," A dry voice said, sounding amused, "if you'd kill a few Immortals that needed killing you'd be more powerful and heal faster. You're vulnerable while you're laying around like this."

Kenshin lifted his head from the pillow and found the owner of that voice, who was seated beside the bed, feet propped up on a box. "Mister MacLeod, maybe I do not wish to heal swiftly, I do not." He paused, and said quietly, under his breath, but knowing his friends -- and Kaoru -- always somehow heard when he spoke to them, "... Kaoru, I love you ..."

He sat up, realizing he was undressed -- and his hair was damp, so he'd been bathed, or at least hosed off. He vaguely remembered a flash and a bang of a gunshot, and the decision not to duck, then nothing more -- if he'd bled out from a gunshot, likely he'd been a nasty mess that nobody would want in their bed. Hence, bath. It was amazing just how far the blood from one human body would go to cover every surface in sight, if appropriately spread.

MacLeod tossed a pair of jeans and a t-shirt at him and said, "Your shirt's a loss, and your coat. We washed your jeans. Your sword's under the bed. If you've never taken a Quickening, you're likely no better at healing than a new Immortal, so I'm thinking you'll be days before you're at full strength. Do you have a place to stay?"

"A hotel room," he said. He wondered how long he'd been out. Not long enough.

MacLeod grunted something that sounded vaguely like an invitation to crash on his floor. "... stay here." The man, Kenshin realized, was genuinely concerned for him.

"You could have taken my head, you could." Kenshin said, sitting up. His head spun at the motion -- MacLeod was right. The injuries themselves had mostly healed already, but he'd lost quite a bit of blood. If someone wanted to take his head right now, he'd be at a distinct disadvantage in a fight. Not that _he_ was worried about a fight, but -- well, a century plus of life had taught him caution.

"I could have." MacLeod agreed. "You haven't given me a reason to. Where are you staying? I'll send Richie over to get some of your things."

"I don't have much. I travel light. The keycard is in my wallet." He eyed MacLeod with some respect. This was, apparently, a man he could trust -- and maybe even respect and come to call a fried. He had honor and integrity. And he wasn't afraid to extend a hand in aid to a strange Immortal.

"He's awake." A rich, French accented female voice said. He turned his head towards the voice. Lots of curls, nice figure. This would be Tessa.

"Tessa." MacLeod said, nodded at her, confirming Kenshin's guess -- Richie had mentioned that Tessa was running errands earlier, so he hadn't met her then. "My girlfriend. Tessa, this is Kenshin Himura."

He wondered if Tessa knew about Immortals. Her next words confirmed that she did. "If you're done being dead in my bed, we're going out to dinner."

Which was, apparently, something of an invitation. He glanced at MacLeod, who shrugged. Mac apparently had no objections to Kenshin meeting his girlfriend -- given some of the behavior that Kenshin had observed among the others like them, this, too, was a mark in the man's favor. Kenshin's experience had taught him that those who trusted others could themselves be trusted.

That, or Tessa could take care of herself.

---------

Richie carefully guided Mac's Thunderbird into a parking spot half a block from the steakhouse that Tessa had suggested for their guest -- Kenshin had indicated that he didn't care what he ate, as long as it was food. Since MacLeod seemed genuinely (if understatedly) concerned about Kenshin, Richie had volunteered to park the car while they went inside. Less distance for Kenshin to walk if they dropped him off at the curb. The little Immortal was very pale still.

Tessa'd said, apologetically, "I know that the food probably will not be of the quality you are used to ..."

Kenshin had said, with some amusement, "This one has nearly starved to death several times in his life."

And he'd meant it, even if he was smiling as he said it.

It had taken Kenshin roughly five minutes to charm Tessa -- and Richie could attest to the fact that charming Tessa was not easy.

Richie frowned as he got out of the car. It looked like rain -- he decided to put the top up for Mac. He was struggling with the unfamiliar fabric top for the Thunderbird when a voice said sharply behind him, "Richie Ryan, up to trouble again, are you?"

He spun around, heart sinking into his toes. The owner of the voice was a cop -- and one who'd arrested him at least twice before. Now that he was eighteen, Richie's juvenile records were officially closed, but the cop certainly _remembered_ his past arrests.

"No, sir." Richie said, "I'm just parking this for a friend ..."

"Car's stolen." The cop said, amiably. He nodded at his cruiser, parked in an alley not twenty feet away. It was dark, except for a couple blinking lights on the dash. Richie hadn't seen the cop car.

"Huh?" MacLeod surely hadn't stolen his ... oh. Richie blinked. "I can explain ..."

"Sure you can. Turn around and put your hands on the trunk." the cop said, without much rancor. "Nice choice of wheels, by the way."

"Really!" Richie protested, as he did as he was told. "The car belongs to Duncan MacLeod. _Really_! He's my boss. It was stolen last week, but the guy brought it back! Mac must've forgotten to call it in that he got it back!"

More likely, Mac _had_ called it in, and the police hadn't updated their records yet. But no sense in aggravating the cops by accusing them of sloppy record keeping. "Really! Office, I haven't even done anything this time!"

The cop efficiently frisked him, found his pocket knife, and the knife in his boot, and his wallet -- and nothing else, apparently to the cop's frustration. His weapons were all of a legal length and design. Nothing unusual, except for the boot knife, and it was short and the hilt stuck out so it wasn't even concealed.

"And MacLeod knows you have his car?" The cop said, frowning at Richie's driver's license -- which Richie knew gave the same address as MacLeod's, and the same address that the car was registered to.

"Yeah! He's in Stevie's!" Richie protested. The steakhouse was 'Stevie's Steakhouse'.

"Then you won't mind me having a bit of a chat with him ..." The cop said, dubiously. Richie exhaled a breath he hadn't known he was holding -- it would have been typical for the cop to have hauled him off to the station and left Mac wondering where he had gone.

"Sure."

This earned him a blink from the cop, who had apparently been expecting a protest. The man clapped a hand down on Richie's shoulder and shoved him more-or-less gently towards the Steakhouse.

-------

"You know," Tessa said conversationally, out of the blue, "It's amazing the amount of trouble that boy can find."

Mac and Kenshin both gave her a puzzled look -- they had been discussing swords, something both Immortals were genuinely interested in, outside of their, ah, career interest in the subject. Kenshin had actually _known_ one of Mac's favorite nineteenth century swordmakers -- in fact, the man had made Kenshin's own unusual blade -- and Mac had been quite interested to hear Kenshin's stories of the swordsmith.

Duncan followed Tessa's gaze to the front of the steakhouse, where Richie was standing with a cop -- who had a rather possessive grip on the boy's shoulder. Richie saw Duncan looking his way and shrugged helplessly.

MacLeod, irritated, stood up, and headed for pair. He didn't know yet if he should be irritated with Richie or the cop. But he was going to be annoyed at _someone_.

"Richie, what's going on here?"

"Mac, he thinks I stole your car." Richie said, glaring at the cop.

MacLeod paused, then said a rude word, then added, "I _knew _that receptionist I gave the message to was going to lose the report. Officer, I got the car back yesterday. Undamaged ..."

Actually, Kenshin had brought the Thunderbird back washed and waxed, and with a full tank of gas, and with the ignition he'd presumably punched fixed as well. But there was no sense in confusing the cop with details.

"... the guy who took it had an attack of conscience." Mac shrugged "What can I say?"

"ID." The cop said, one word that held a bit of annoyance. MacLeod thought he'd actually been looking forward to arresting Richie.

Mac showed his ID. And his insurance card. The officer finally sighed, and said, "Sorry to bother you."

"No problem, officer." MacLeod managed to keep the sarcasm mostly out of his voice. "I know you're just doing your job."

Richie's jaw was set with anger -- Richie did _not_ like cops, even if they were more-or-less doing their jobs -- as he walked back to the table. Kenshin said, curiously, "Is Mister Richie in trouble?"

"Not this time." MacLeod claimed his chair again.

"Hey!" Richie started to argue, then he sighed, and said in a somewhat defeated tone of voice, "Sometimes, I swear, I've got a great big sign that says 'bad' right smack in the middle of my back. I can be doing nothing at all and get in trouble. It really pisses me off."

Kenshin made a small sound, very quiet. "Oro?" He'd been sipping water; now he set it down on the tabl with a swift click of glass against oak.

Mac glanced at him, then gave him a harder look. Kenshin had gone very pale even given the pallor he'd started with; the crossed scars on his cheek stood out in bold relief. He was staring at Richie.

Richie finally realized he was the focus of Kenshin's shock, and said, "What?"

Kenshin shook his head, and seemed to recover a bit. "For a minute, Mister Richie reminded this one of someone from very long ago."

Tessa said lightly, "Deja vu, Kenshin?"

Kenshin said. "Perhaps that is all."

But for the next few minutes, the little Immortal man kept sneaking sideways glances at Richie. His mouth was set in a thoughtful frown, and his eyes were searching. Mac wasn't sure what Kenshin had seen, but he was clearly unsettled. The color slowly returned to his cheeks, though, and gradually his full attention returned to the conversation -- which revolved around banalities, mostly.

The comparison of the weather in Seacouver versus Tokyo evolved into a Kenshin telling Richie and Tessa about Tokyo, which somehow -- after Kenshin had a couple beers in him -- drifted into Kenshin teaching Richie to swear in Japanese, to Tessa and Mac's amusement.

When Kenshin's cel phone rang, he apologized before responding to it. "I am sorry, only my family has this number." He flipped it open finally, and said, "Hello ..." then, with an abashed look at his companions, he switched to Japanese. A brief conversation followed. They could hear a tinny female voice, laughing occasionally, but Kenshin himself didn't have any trace of humor in his words or on his face.

He put the phone away after a minute and said, "Heather called her aunt and reported me dead. Her aunt knows most of the details about what I am -- that was her calling me to make sure that I was not truly deceased."

Kenshin said softly, "Heather apparently didn't believe her that I live. I thought, surely, she would talk to her, and that Atsuko would tell her the truth, but ..." He trailed off, for a moment, then said, "I need to find her."

He started to stand up, to go. MacLeod said in concern, "You're not at full strength."

And he'd also drank two imported beers (after some good-natured grumbling about the limited choices of beverages on the menu -- which amounted to beer, beer, and more beer) in the course of an hour and a half. Not an enormous amount, by any means, but Kenshin was not a large man.

And, more importantly, he was unarmed except for a rather impressive collection of knives -- none of which were long enough to be much use in a real fight. His coat had been ruined by the gunshot and the blood -- which was a lot harder to get out of pale leather than it was to wash out of dark blue jeans -- and he was too short to hide a blade of a decent size under his shirt. Kenshin didn't seem bothered by this -- he'd willingly left his reversed-blade sword in the safe at the store.

Older Immortals could mask the presence of a sword by pure force of Immortal presence ("Sword? What sword? No sword here ...") but Kenshin had reluctantly admitted to not being able to do so. He just didn't have the power. It wasn't a willpower thing or a skill thing, it was an Immortal thing. And Kenshin wasn't playing the Game.

Mac thought the guy _really_ needed to take a few heads.

"I can handle Heather," Kenshin said, then paused and added, "And Shark."

"Mind if I tag along?" MacLeod said, worried a bit anyway. He was certain Kenshin could handle Heather -- from Richie's description, the girl wasn't much of a threat. If he ran into someone who wanted his head, however, he'd be slowed and perhaps a bit clumsy, and weak from blood loss. And, of course, no sword.

Kenshin looked, for a moment, like he wanted to argue. Then, after another of those frowning glances at Richie, he said, "Yes. Perhaps it is wise."


	4. Chapter 4

-1Chapter 4

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Author's notes -- some answers here to the reviews. (And thank you, by the way, for the reviews!)

Peppymint -- I'd be more likely to have Kenshin either accidentally take someone's head (i.e, somebody slips during a fight) or run into an Immortal who desires suicide by Quickening and who manages to deliberately get his head in the way of Kenshin's swing. Nice angst fic potential, there. But not in this story ... in a sequel, maybe. (I have a vague idea for a sequel set during season five of Highlander and involving Joe Dawson and Methos that I could work that in to. Or not. I'm sure I'm not the first fanfic writer who's contemplated the angst potential of having Kenshin kill someone by accident.)

Janey-in-a-Bottle -- I'll leave it up in the air as to how Connor knows Kenshin, except to say Kenshin has extensively traveled. That hero complex and all, you know. Also, since Immortals can't have children, I'll have to be AU and say in this fanfic-verse that Kenshin has no son. (And Richie? Whatever could you be talking about ... I have no idea. LOL.)

Hitokiri Jinchuu -- it's actually set in Canada, in "Seacouver" which is a fictional town. They filmed most of the first season of Highlander in Vancouver. The antique shop is apparently in a gritty downtown/industrial area and most major cities have one way streets in areas like that.

MarbleGlove -- re: income -- I don't think it's necessary for the story to go into this, but for back story, the explanation that I'm working with is that he saved the life of a rich man's daughter and when the man passed away years later, he left Kenshin a nice inheritance. Kenshin lives off the interest. It's what I'm using for my own personal explanation until something better occurs to me, anyway.

PeaceBunnie -- re: the photo of Pippi!Kenshin -- I wish I was a better artist, I'd love to have that pic just for giggles.

Grahamsmoon -- I'm wary of having Kenshin go into too much detail with Mac. He doesn't do so in the series with his friends so he'd be unlikely to do so with a stranger. And Mac has a history (including with Methos) of being fairly intolerant of the past crimes of others. When Methos let Mac know he was one of the four horseman, Mac had serious issues with this. Kenshin's crimes aren't quite as serious but Mac would not view him the same way if he had the specific details.

------------

"Mister MacLeod," Kenshin said, quietly, as MacLeod waited for the light to turn green at a stop, "You are being very kind."

MacLeod glanced sideways at the man, but did not say anything. Rain pattered against the Thunderbird's roof. It would rain harder, later; he could feel the storm coming.

"Why?" The question was naked, without any of Kenshin's usual politeness. Not, "_This one wants to know why._" He elaborated, when MacLeod didn't immediately respond, "Why are you doing this?"

"Why do you help people?" MacLeod turned the question back on him.

Kenshin leaned back against the Thunderbird's seat, sighed, and said, "Atonement."

MacLeod grunted. It was more or less the answer he'd expected. And that wasn't exactly his reason for helping people -- but it had answered a question he'd had about Kenshin. Behind that sunny smile lurked darkness. This man had many layers.

Which, MacLeod decided, was rather comforting, in a weird way. You didn't live for a hundred and thirty years with people out for your head without being touched by evil and darkness -- and judging by the scars on this man's slim body, he'd fought hard and often before that first death. His scars crossed other scars, and some of them ought to have killed. He had one on his back that had nearly split him stem to stern, and had to have broken ribs.

Richie had been shocked by the marks on this man's body when they'd dumped him in the shower to wash off the blood. Mac himself had been expecting to see something like that. You didn't get as good as Kenshin was without picking up a few scars along the way -- and you didn't get that good without starting at a very young age. MacLeod figured the logical conclusion was that Kenshin had been fighting well before he had his first death.

However, _after_ seeing the evidence of the brutality in Kenshin's early life, he was frankly he surprised that Kenshin didn't look even younger than he did -- he'd managed to survive for a good long while in a terribly violent world before someone had finally killed him that first time. Some of those scars _had_ to affect his fighting abilities, too.

Notably, he was missing a big chunk of muscle on his left shoulder and the scar was deep and jagged and round -- it almost looked like a bite wound. MacLeod had seen just enough of Kenshin's fighting style to know that, while Kenshin was right handed, he would use the sheath itself in his left hand as a secondary weapon in an actual serious duel. And to fight at the level he did would require flexibility of both arms, even when he was only swinging a sword with one. Having a stiff right shoulder would be something of a handicap. Same with any blow that required two hands on the hilt of the blade.

That gave Mac a starting point, if he ever had to seriously duel with Kenshin. As things stood, he didn't think that needing to take Kenshin's head was likely, but one never knew. Taking stock of a possible opponent was second nature -- he'd been surprised before.

He wished, briefly, that life were simpler. He wished he could simply say, "I like you, and we're friends." But life just wasn't like that.

_Atonement_, Kenshin had answered. Mac figured that was an honest answer, though perhaps not a realistic one. It bothered him, a bit, to think of what Kenshin might be atoning for, too. Just how evil was this man's past? You didn't get that many scars on your body without gaining a few on your psyche as well.

"And you, Mister MacLeod?" Kenshin said mildly, oblivious to Mac's thoughts. He wasn't going to drop the subject. "Why do you help people?"

"Because I'm not evil." That was the best answer he could come up with quickly. After a minute, he added, "Because I couldn't live with myself if I didn't help."

"_Hai_." Kenshin said in agreement. He fell silent, for a moment, then asked, "And Richie? He is one of us, is he not?"

"Yes." MacLeod confirmed. Kenshin, having never taken a Quickening in his life, wouldn't have the sensitivity of an older Immortal who'd played the game for awhile. Mac was honestly a little surprised that Kenshin had picked up on that at all, and he said so.

They drove under a streetlight, and the light shining through the windshield illuminated Kenshin's wry smile. "I guessed, Mister MacLeod."

"Richie's a good kid." MacLeod shrugged. "He's a friend."

"He reminds me a great deal of a friend I had, in Tokyo, a long time ago."

"One of the ones whose children you're looking out for?"

"Yes. Sagara Sanosuke." Kenshin confirmed, "A very good friend. We fought side by side on many occasions ... MacLeod, you are fortunate in that your friend Richie will not grow old and die while you do not. He will be a true friend to you, this I believe. If the fortunes favor you, he will be a friend for many, many years. Though ..." Kenshin grinned, paused, and added impishly, "Speaking from experience, it might be wise to make sure he's a bit older before he dies that first time."

MacLeod laughed. Even after showing the waitress his passport, which had shown an age of twenty three, Kenshin had difficulty in convincing her to serve him beer. And the drinking age in Seacouver was nineteen.

"This is the hotel," Kenshin pointed out a decrepit rat hole sandwiched between an industrial looking warehouse and an auto body shop. Hookers patrolled the street in front of the Indigo Gardens Hotel, and MacLeod was glad the top was up on the Thunderbird -- the last time he'd parked on a street this bad, somebody had dumped trash into the front seat.

"Lovely neighborhood." MacLeod got out, locked the car, and viewed the hotel very dubiously.

Kenshin said, mournfully, "I miss my sword."

"Thought you said you could handle anything without it." MacLeod grinned. He knew the feeling; he made sure his own sword was loose in its sheath.

"I can handle a fight with anyone likely to be here, this is true ..." Kenshin sighed. The sigh seemed to indicate a sentimental attachment to the sword, MacLeod thought. Hard to tell.

"You can always stay here and I'll go in," MacLeod said. Teasing. Hassling Kenshin was a bit of a test -- and one that Kenshin passed easily.

Kenshin laughed, unoffended by the suggestion. "Perhaps Mister MacLeod would like to stay behind instead. I can handle the girl, and MacLeod can protect his car from thieves."

Heh. The shrimp could give as good as he got. MacLeod retorted, "How about we both go up together, if it's my _car_ you're worried about?"

Kenshin gave him a wide-eyed, utterly innocent look. It made him look like a naive boy. "This one has no idea what your meaning is."

Right. That innocent look might work on the ladies, but Mac wasn't fooled. MacLeod shook his head and followed Kenshin into the lobby of the hotel. Kenshin approached the front desk -- the person behind the desk was a fat woman who was chewing something that probably wasn't gum. She said in a somewhat hostile tone of voice, "What do you want? Place is full."

"I am seeking my niece. Her name is Sagara Heather ..." Kenshin paused, and corrected himself, "Heather Sagara."

"You just missed her," the woman said, with a dark scowl. "I went to kick her out for not paying this evening and ..."

The woman gave Kenshin a sideways look, and a frown, and a trace of sadness touched her eyes. "She's your niece?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Mmph. Not much family resemblance." The woman said skeptically. "And I think she's older than you."

"Please. Can you tell me where she went?"

The woman gave Kenshin a surprised look; MacLeod supposed she didn't hear such politeness very often.

MacLeod added, "Kenshin's the same age as Heather ..."

Well, on paper, anyway.

"... He's come here all the way from Japan because Heather's family is worried about her."

The woman scowled. "You don't look Japanese."

"I hear many people say that, I do." Kenshin seemed to be exaggerating his accent, and he made a tiny bow in her direction.

"Look, are you going to help us out or not?" MacLeod said, impatiently.

Kenshin said quietly, "It's okay, Mister MacLeod. Ma'am, you entered Heather's room and found that she had taken too much heroine, did you not?"

"Y-yeah." The woman blinked at him. "She OD'd."

"I was afraid that she would do such a thing, when Atsuko said that she did not believe I yet lived." Kenshin sighed. All trace of humor had vanished from his face; when he glanced up at MacLeod, Mac saw something he'd never seen on the man's face before -- real anger. "Foolish girl."

"Typical." MacLeod sighed. "Which hospital did they take her to?"

The woman shrugged. "I didn't ask."

"May we collect her things?" Kenshin asked, quietly. The anger had disappeared from his eyes, however, his voice was very quiet.

The woman switched whatever she was chewing to her other cheek, reached under the counter, and produced a cardboard box. "Law makes us keep stuff for thirty days. You really her uncle?"

"Yes, he is," MacLeod said, interrupting before Kenshin could either lie badly, or worse, tell some fragmented version of the truth. "He's adopted."

Kenshin gave the woman one of his patented innocent smiles.

The woman gave him a skeptical look -- apparently, she didn't buy the expression any more than MacLeod did -- but she did hand them the box. "Nothin' valuable in it, anyway."

"They probably took her to County," MacLeod said, leading the way back to his car. "We can swing by and see if she's there. I imagine they'll admit her to the psych ward for a few days, at least. You may not be able to see her right away."

Kenshin said, following a step behind MacLeod, with his thumbs in his pockets and his head down, "MacLeod, if she were your responsibility, would you even try to save her?"

MacLeod stopped, and looked back. "Is she worth saving?"

"They all are." Kenshin sounded tired. "Forgive me, MacLeod. I am thinking unworthy thoughts. The girl reacted to my supposed death by attempting to kill herself. I did not expect that -- I should have realized how badly she has damaged herself."

There was that anger again. A streetlight picked up a hint of golden gleam in Kenshin's eyes. "Foolish child. She has so many opportunities, so many things that we never had -- and to do _this_. She is wasting life."

Kenshin glanced up at MacLeod. His jaw was set in anger and his eyes glittered with frustration. "Her father is a hard man, but he is _nothing_ like my master, who drank too much sake and never found me worthy no matter how hard I worked, how perfect I became.

"MacLeod, I was orphaned by the time I was nine years old. I killed my first man in battle when I was thirteen. I watched the people I loved die -- from violence, in my arms; by my own hand; from disease; rarely from old age. People wanted my head even _before_ I became Immortal. I made unforgivable choices. And -- I chose to _live_."

Kenshin made a frustrated, angry, dismissive gesture with one hand. The amber lights faded from his eyes. "I would be reluctant to aid one who cares so little for her own life, or for the love of her family, were it not for a promise I made."

Bitterness touched his voice now. "Sometimes I despair, Mister MacLeod. I say things which I perhaps do not fully mean. I apologize for troubling you." Once in the Thunderbird, Kenshin was silent for several blocks before he added, "I'll go back to the hotel room tomorrow. I do not wish to bring my difficulties to your home, MacLeod."

Mac asked, "You will try to help Heather?"

"If I can, I will." Kenshin stared moodily out the window, then he opened the box and rifled through the contents in the dark, in silence, for a moment.

"Mister MacLeod, could you turn on the light for just a moment?" They were at a stoplight, waiting for the green. MacLeod complied and glanced over, curious.

Kenshin had produced Heather's purse -- a ratty denim bag. When the light came on he found a small leatherbound journal. "This is Heather's, but it's in English."

"You can't read English?"

Kenshin shook his head. "I speak it but I do not read it well, and this is cursive writing, which I find very difficult. Printing is much easier to read."

MacLeod pulled over to the side of the road and held his hand out. "Do you want to hear the last entry first?"

Kenshin sighed. "Yes. Though she will doubtless be angry that we have read her private thoughts, it may give me some insight on how to help her."

MacLeod flipped through to the last entry, cleared his throat, and read it aloud.

_"How do you explain a man who is over a century old and has the looks of a young movie star? He is my family's special uncle -- we cannot explain him, but we love him. He is always there for us -- has been, forever. And because I am a weak fool he is now dead._

_"I promise, from this day forth, I will not be weak anymore. I will change. I swear it. For Kenshin. Who is dead because of me. I mu ..."_

MacLeod said quietly, "It stops in mid word, Kenshin."

Kenshin said softly, "It doesn't sound as if she was think of committing suicide. Though I wish she had listened to her aunt when she was told that I lived."

"So why did she OD?" MacLeod said, easing the Thunderbird back into traffic.

"I think I need to speak to her, soon." Kenshin said, voice quiet and controlled again. "This may not be entirely what it seems."


	5. Chapter 5

-1Chapter Five

-----------------

Author's notes -- I am amusing myself here contemplating the thought of what the _Watchers_ think of Kenshin. And, also, the likelihood of them being able to avoid detection by Kenshin is probably nil.

I'm bumping the rating on this up. mostly because of some gritty content.

PraiseDivineMercy -- Heather's drug of choice was originally going to be meth, but I decided to go for heroine instead because it's arguably less destructive overall and because, as you note, it's the modern equivalent of opium. Also, few readers would probably notice or care, but crystal meth wasn't really on the scene as a major drug when Season 1 of Highlander was filmed.

-----------------

Pain woke Kenshin, as it often did, sometime before dawn. He didn't scar now, and his bullet wound from earlier had healed -- though he knew he'd still be a little light headed from blood loss when he sat up. But the old wounds ached and throbbed in response to bad weather.

It was thundering outside, an early morning downpour, and lightning flickered in the window as he sat up. The weather made the old pain much worse. It was enough to make sleep impossible.

He was on the floor of Richie's bedroom -- Richie snored loudly, no reaction to Kenshin's movements. The boy had never known any _real _threats to his life. Kenshin himself had spent most of his teen years sleeping while sitting up, close to an open window for a ready escape, a sword in his hand. He'd nearly killed more than one person who'd accidentally startled him, when he'd reacted with naked steel before he fully woke and recognized the person as not a threat.

This boy ... this boy who reminded Kenshin of Sano _so very much_ ... snored peacefully in a bed, unworried about losing his life. He'd gain that worry later, Kenshin figured, but didn't have it now and he didn't need it.

Kenshin stood up and padded in stocking feet into the kitchen, where he found Tessa seated at a table with a stack of invoices and a calculator. She glanced up at him, and said in a low voice, "Good morning, Kenshin."

"Good morning, Tessa-dono." He yawned, showing he wasn't fully awake (even though he was) because he'd learned to show little human weaknesses to make those around him more comfortable. "Thank you for your hospitality."

"Mac likes you," Tessa said, apparently sufficient explanation for the older immortal's kindness to him.

"And you?" He was, at least partly, teasing her.

She bared teeth at him -- was that supposed to be a grin? -- and said, "You're too charming, Himura Kenshin."

"I am glad that Tessa-dono thinks so." He said with a soft chuff of a laugh, knowing she was gently razzing him back. Then he sobered, remembering Heather, and feeling guilty for indulging in humor.

She apparently sensed his mood. The smile faded from her face, and she said simply, "There's coffee in the pot if you want some."

He poured himself a cup, then walked to the window and studied the sky. It was just starting to grow light in the east through the clouds, and lightning flickered again. It would be stormy, today.

"Did the thunder wake you?" Tessa asked. He heard paper rustle, then rapid tapping on the calculator.

"Not directly, no. I have old injuries that hurt when it rains. It is nothing, really."

"There's ibuprofen in the cabinet by the refrigerator," Tessa said, sounding a little concerned.

"The pain is an old friend, Miss Tessa. It will fade as I move after waking." After watching the rain for a moment, he added, "I will be going, now. I thank you again for being so kind as to put me up."

"You don't have to leave yet ..." Tessa started to protest.

He gave her half a smile; he couldn't summon more than that. They'd found out late last night that Heather had been taken to the a government run hospital, as Mac had speculated, and would be admitted to the psychiatric ward for observation and treatment and detox as soon as a space opened up. The doctors had refused to tell them anything else about her condition, citing confidentiality. However, he could see her -- the doctor had actually requested that he stop by, since Heather was insisting he was dead and refusing to even try speaking to him on the phone.

The doctors thought she had hallucinated his death. He saw no need to clarify the situation.

"I need to go by the hospital, to see Heather," he said, "And I do not want to bring troubles to your household."

He finished the coffee, rinsed the cup, and dried it and returned it to the cabinet. There was a plate and silverware in the sink as well; he absently picked them up and washed them as well. Tessa said, after watching him, "Somebody's mother taught him well."

"Oro?"

"Wish I could get Richie and Mac to do the dishes." Tessa grumbled, "I swear, the both of them were raised in barns. Mac, maybe literally."

"My master -- who taught me swords," he always found the clarification necessary when talking to Westerners, because they assumed "master" meant he was a slave, not a student, "was demanding in all things. It is now habit of a lifetime to clean a mess when I see it. Part of me still expects him to have my hide over a dirty dish."

"You _sure_ you don't want to stay here?" Tessa sounded amused.

"Tessa-dono, I cannot stay. This unworthy one is honored by the invitation, however." He glanced out the window, where the sky was growing progressively lighter but the rain was as hard as ever.

"I'll drive you to the hospital, at least," Tessa said, "It's pouring out."

He eyed the rain. It looked cold and, well, wet. "It is nothing. I could call a cab."

"If I take you, we can swing by the a store and pick up a coat to hide your sword under," Tessa pointed out. "We can leave your sword in the trunk of my car until you've bought the coat. Then I could drop you off at the hospital."

Kenshin frowned, then nodded. It made sense.

Tessa glanced at her watch. "It's six AM. Why don't you go relax a bit and we'll leave about nine, when the stores open? The hospital isn't even open yet, for visiting hours, for what it's worth."

She was correct. Kenshin sighed, and said, "You are wise and kind, Tessa-dono."

He paused, then asked, "Is there a place where I can ... practice ... a bit? My swordsmanship."

"I suggested relaxing," Tessa said, "Not swinging a big fat sword around. But Mac usually uses the empty warehouse across the street. You can get in through the fire door in the back, the lock is broken."

"Thank you, Miss Tessa."

----------

"Did our guest leave?" MacLeod asked, half an hour later. He yawned sleepily, then glanced at the window when lightning flashed. The storm was loud and had woken him.

"I think he's over in the warehouse, practicing." Tessa said, without glancing up. "I'm going to take him shopping later, to get a new coat, and then drive him over to the hospital."

"Tessa, I don't think it's a good idea for you to be alone with him," MacLeod said, warily. It wasn't that he didn't trust Kenshin -- if Kenshin was ever pissed at him enough to fight him for real, MacLeod figured Kenshin would be _apologizing _ to Tessa before and after, not involving her -- but rather, "He's not at full strength and if someone comes after him, you could end up involved. And I'm not sure you realize how significantly he's handicapping himself by refusing to kill."

"He beat you," she pointed out.

MacLeod wasn't about to let on just how thoroughly he'd been beaten. He and Richie had agreed to let Tessa assume he'd only been beaten up, not very nearly decapitated!

"He's not at full strength," MacLeod repeated.

"So why don't you go spar with him a bit and see how weakened he really is?" Tessa said, in a tone that MacLeod didn't exactly like -- it was her 'you're being an idiot' tone of voice.

That actually was not a bad idea. MacLeod wanted a better look at Kenshin's fighting style -- he didn't recognize it, and he thought it might be one of the more obscure schools -- plus he could learn a lot more about the man's character by sparring with him a bit. "I might just do that."

Inside the warehouse, the rain rumbled on the metal roof and the light streaming through the high windows was muted. Thunder crackled close by. And Kenshin was dancing.

MacLeod stopped short and watched with some surprise as the man spun through a series of very elaborate katas so quickly that Mac could barely follow the movements. Grace and power and a very high degree of skill -- it almost looked like magic, but it wasn't, not really. MacLeod assumed this meant that Kenshin had fully recovered from his injuries, perhaps faster than Mac had really expected.

After a moment of observation, he realized Kenshin was also definitely weak on his left side. It was slight but noticeable. He was just a hair off balance, a bit too slow, and his left arm -- when he stretched upwards for a downward blow -- obviously couldn't be raised as high as the right.

Kenshin stopped abruptly, sensing his audience. He sheathed his sakabatu, and then turned to Mac. "I apologize. Did you wish to train here? I will leave."

"Actually," MacLeod drew his katana, "I wanted to ask you to spar with me a bit."

Kenshin's face ... changed. His expression was suddenly closed off and dark. His response held none of his usual courtesy, "I don't train with anyone."

Mac was surprised by that. He said, "You have to train, or you lose your edge."

"I am not worried about being defeated if I have a sword in my hand," Kenshin said. It should have sounded like a boast, but it didn't.

"I think you've got some weaknesses, Kenshin Himura. If you're going to be accompany my girlfriend anywhere, I want to know you can compensate for them if someone comes after you," MacLeod said, bluntly. "Spar with me."

"This one hasn't had to prove himself for a very long time." He gave MacLeod a very sunny smile.

"You're not in Japan. And reputations can be at least partly bluff, even among us." MacLeod thought that grin made the man look like a loon. He dropped into a crouch, and waited.

Kenshin sighed heavily, drew his sword, and said, "Very well. I shall spar with you, if it will set your mind at ease. I do not wish you to worry about me, or your love."

The stance he assumed was a basic one as he waited for MacLeod to come at him. Mac thought now that he might actually have a chance of scoring on Kenshin in this round; it was clear from Kenshin's body language that he didn't take Mac seriously.

Mac figured his sheer skill wasn't anywhere near Kenshin's, but he hadn't survived four hundred years by not knowing a thing or two about fighting. He focused on Kenshin's left shoulder, aimed his entire attention there, and noted that Kenshin shifted his weight accordingly. He was expecting Mac to go for his left, weaker, side. And Kenshin was still thinking MacLeod was, in comparison to himself, a rank amateur.

Mac lunged, and Kenshin started to block the blow. Mac fouled Kenshin's sword with his, forcing the blade down. He punched over the blades, aiming at Kenshin's nose. Kenshin jerked his head back and Mac's fist connected with his mouth instead, hard enough that Kenshin's teeth scraped his knuckles. The guy was half Mac's weight; sheer physics if MacLeod's greater weight knocked him off his feet.

Kenshin landed on his butt, and rolled instantly to his feet, without a word. There was a new light of respect in his eyes, and his stance was a lot more aggressive.

Mac said grimly, "No rules, Kenshin. Because the guys coming at you don't have any rules either."

This wasn't like sparring with Connor, he'd already decided -- that was half play, these days. He wanted to know just how well Kenshin could handle a really dirty fight. Anyone fighting with Kenshin would need to fight dirty to win.

Four hundred years? He'd learned _lots_ of dirty tricks. He didn't usually use them because he didn't need to, but he knew them.

It was Kenshin's turn to charge. Mac blocked three rapid blows as fast as he could, and now he _did_ take advantage of Kenshin's evers so slightly weaker left side, and also the man's smaller size and lesser reach -- he drove as hard as he could towards the left, physically forcing Kenshin backwards. Kenshin didn't have the leg power to match Mac in a shoving match, and they both knew it. He was plenty strong, but Mac was stronger.

Kenshin attempted to spin free, to get some distance from Mac, and Mac _tripped_ him. Kenshin went down again, and Mac swatted him on the hip with his katana.

"Could've crippled you, there," Mac pointed out as Kenshin turned the tumble into a somersault, came back to his feet and instantly swung hard and low at Mac's leg -- Mac almost didn't block the blow; Kenshin's lack of height was an advantage there. MacLeod was used to sparing with opponents who were taller and he had to reach lower to stop Kenshin's blow than he normally would have.

"Sure you're at full strength? Because I'm not impressed." Mac asked, mostly because he hoped to piss Kenshin off and even this fight a bit more. Truthfully, Kenshin was probably one of the best swordsmen he'd ever fought against. The comment only got him a grin from Kenshin, though, so getting Kenshin mad and reckless wasn't likely to work. That confirmed what he thought, which was that Kenshin was likely to keep a very cool head in an emergency.

However, Mac was starting to feel a little more confident. This was still nowhere near an even match, but he'd managed to put Kenshin down on the ground twice and that had to count for something.

They exchanged ringing blows again, and then Kenshin snuck one past Mac's defenses -- the dull side of that reversed-edge sword rapped Mac hard on the side of the head. He saw stars and stumbled backwards. into a pile of dirt.

"I could have taken your head there, Mister MacLeod." Kenshin politely waited for Mac to regain his equilibrium.

Damnit, the shrimp was right. Mac lunged back to his feet with a handful of dirt in his hand which he threw it hard at Kenshin's eyes. Kenshin closed his eyes -- and still neatly blocked MacLeod's blow. He'd anticipated Mac would follow that trick with an instant strike with the sword, and from which direction it would come. Mac cursed himself for being predictable.

Kenshin wiped the dirt from his watering eyes with the back of his hand and said, with some respect, "You're not playing fair, MacLeod."

"No." Mac agreed.

"I thought you were a boy scout, I did." Kenshin sounded amused. "Does this unworthy one pass your test?"

"Did awhile ago," MacLeod said. He added, "This is just fun, now."

They exchanged blows again -- Mac managed to tag Kenshin on the shoulder, again by fooling him into thinking he would feint left and then going right.

"You're very hard to read." Kenshin said, sounding bemused. "Usually, I know what my opponents will do."

MacLeod pointed out, "You're expecting me to go after your left side because it's weaker. Because you expect this, it is easy to fake you out."

"Thank you," Kenshin said, sounding thoughtful and a little surprised, "for that observation."

MacLeod feinted at Kenshin's left side. Kenshin swung his sword to the right at the same time, obviously expecting Mac to fool him again -- and Mac solidly slapped him on the left shoulder with the flat of his katana.

"Oro!" Kenshin made an astonished noise.

"You guessed wrong, Ken." Mac grinned.

Kenshin responded by chasing MacLeod around the warehouse for several minutes, delivering a number of hard blows. Mac managed to block about ninety percent of the moves Kenshin threw his way, and deliver one more good swat to Kenshin's right shoulder, but Kenshin was fast, and -- Mac realized -- now he had something to prove. Some of those blows hurt, though Kenshin was definitely pulling them so as to not break any bones.

Finally, with both of them breathing hard, Kenshin held up a hand in a stopping gesture, "Enough, Mac. You fight very well. Your honor, however ..."

"Oh, I can fight with honor," MacLeod said, and rubbed sweat from his eyes with his sleeve. "I usually do. When it comes to you, though, Kenshin, I think not getting my butt kicked trumps good manners."

Kenshin wiped his mouth with his hand and said, "I don't mind, Mac. I believe you were trying to provoke me into anger and see how I handled an unfair fight, were you not?"

"Yeah."

"This will not work. There are few things that will piss me off; poor sportsmanship in a duel is not one of them. War is not about sportsmanship, and swordfights are war." Kenshin inspected his blade for a second -- MacLeod, with an experienced eye, noted the _quality_ of that odd katana was extremely high -- then sheathed it. "I enjoyed this match, MacLeod. I did not expect to."

MacLeod put his own sword away. "Likewise."

Most of Mac's remaining concerns about Kenshin had been put rest by the match. Though, he thought somewhat sourly as he headed home with Kenshin trailing behind him, _If that's Kenshin a day after he was shot to death, what's he like the rest of the time?_


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

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Author's note: I figured out how to explain Kenji. (For the RuroKen fans who are not real familiar with Highlander, Immortals cannot reproduce.)

(Edit: Fixed the spelling on Shinta.)

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It was still pouring when Tessa dropped Kenshin off at the hospital hours later. He was now sporting a brand new black leather duster, and a green cotton t-shirt that said, "Seacouver!" in bold letters and had a picture of a nearby scenic mountain range on the back.

Kenshin looked up at the hospital for a moment. His sword was a familiar weight across his back, cool and unyielding. It had been a part of his life since he was a teenager and he always felt naked when circumstances dictated he part with it. It was a relief to have it back again, even if he felt it was relatively unnecessary most of the time.

He'd spent decades without that sword, after giving it to Yahiko. It had been passed down through the family from father to son for decades until a man had inherited it who was unworthy in Kenshin's eyes -- and who had first put it on display in a glass box in his office (not even his home) and who had then tried to _sell_ it when times were tough. Kaoru -- grey haired and stooped at the time -- had bought it back from the man.

Kenshin figured he'd gift the sword to someone again someday. But in this modern time, there was no one in the family who _understood_ what the sword meant. And anyway, in this day and age, most people did not solve problems with a blade.

He'd persuaded Tessa to drop him off here, in front of the hospital. He liked the woman -- MacLeod had his match in Tessa Noel, that was certain. She had a sharp tongue and a sharper wit. Because she clearly loved Mac and was not afraid to speak her mind, her misgivings about the man's immortality and The Game would keep him solidly grounded. It was obvious Mac loved her back, and he hoped they would have many more years together.

And as for the other Immortal, Kenshin had decided he truly liked MacLeod. The man's concern for his girlfriend was genuine -- yet he wasn't possessive, and he was willing to let her make her own decisions. He was a good man and someone Kenshin would be proud to call 'friend.'

The Scotsman wasn't bad with a sword, either. Kenshin wasn't sure if MacLeod realized how long it had been since someone had managed to get a blow past his guard. Years, maybe decades.

He thought back over the match -- he'd been a little slowed, but not much, and he'd fought serious battles when he was hurting a lot more. MacLeod had pointed out a bad habit he'd developed, too -- expecting bad guys to go for his left side because anyone with any experience at all could see he had a stiff shoulder.

Kenshin wondered if he could arrange regular sparring matches with Mac. Mac was -- if not his equal with a sword -- at least a serious challenge. There was no baggage there, no past history that might come out and go sour in a match. And MacLeod was good enough to test him.

He sighed, decided he'd talk to MacLeod later, and then steeled himself for what he suspected was going to be a bit of an unpleasant encounter with Heather. With considerable resignation, he walked into the hospital. It smelled as hospitals always did, inside -- of disinfectant and sickness. He hated hospitals.

At the elevator, he was joined by a little girl in a wheelchair, and a nurse. The girl had no hair -- not even eyebrows or eyelashes -- and her face had the round, sweaty pallor of grave illness and harsh medication. It was hard to tell how old she was -- six or seven, maybe, or older or younger. Her eyes were ancient.

"Hi there," Kenshin said, seeing she was staring at him, as they waited for the elevator to come down. He'd called ahead and already knew that Heather was on the seventh floor.

"Hi." The girl peered up at him. "I like your hair. Can I touch it?"

He flipped his ponytail forward and leaned over after a glance at the nurse, who smiled permission at him. The girl stroked his pony tail with a hand that had an IV embedded in it. "Your hair is pretty."

"Thank you," he said, and remembered another little girl who'd been fascinated by his long red hair and who had insisted on braiding it every chance she got. Every family dinner, or picnic in a park, or whenever else he met with the family -- Heather had sat down behind him at the first chance she got, and started plaiting.

He swallowed down a lump in his throat, and suddenly, he wasn't angry. He was just very, very sorry for Heather's choices as of late. Somewhere in there, that little girl that he'd loved as a niece still lived. He had to bring her back, he had to remind her of who she was.

"Are you here visiting someone?" the little girl asked.

"Yes, miss. I'm visiting my niece. She's sick, too."

"I'm going to get better and go to school next week!" The girl announced. She had recently lost her two top teeth and the adult ones were half grown in. So six was a good bet for her age. Maybe seven. "Maybe tomorrow!"

"I believe you will, this I do," he said as he crouched down to be on eye-level with her. The elevator hadn't arrived yet -- the light indicated it was stalled on one of the top floors. He pulled his wallet out, found a five yen coin in the change pocket, and handed it to her. "This is from Japan, where I'm from. It's a lucky coin, it is."

She peered at it and said in wonder, "It's got a hole in it!"

He'd figured she would like the coin. He glanced up at the nurse, who was smiling. The nurse studied him for a moment, "You're a kind man. Do you have children of your own?"

She'd apparently concluded he was old enough to have kids. Kenshin had discovered that if you asked people how old they thought he was, their estimates would range from fifteen to thirty.

He answered simply, "Yes." Children now that he looked out for -- and truthfully, kids of his own, long ago. He just didn't mention that all of his own had all died of old age, years ago. Their descendents were among those he helped now.

Kaoru had desperately wanted children, and in truth so had he, but Immortals could sire none. They hadn't known that then, hadn't learned it for years. However, the dojo had still ended up full of children in the end, children they had called 'son' and 'daughter' -- children with nowhere else to go. Kenji had been the first foundling to come through that door and others had followed ... children not of his blood, but of his heart.

"I'm going to go to school _tomorrow_," the girl said, firmly, decisively.

"Tammy, you have school here," the nurse said, gently. When she met Kenshin's eyes, there was a certain sad knowledge there that made Kenshin very glad he'd given the girl the coin. He wished it had been gold.

And he really and truly hated hospitals.

"What's your niece's name?" The girl asked.

"Sagara Heather," Kenshin said.

"Does she have cancer too?"

"Something like that." Kenshin wondered what was holding the elevator up.

"You're older than you look," the girl peered at him with those ancient eyes. "What's your name, Mister?"

"Himura Kenshin."

"No ... it's not," she said, slowly and skeptically, while frowning at him.

"shinta," he tried, wanting to see her smile again, and wondering how she'd known. Nobody had called him by that name since he'd been little older than she was.

And Shinta was the name she wanted. She gave him a very big gap-toothed grin, and said, "Shinta's pretty. My mommy said I could have a kitten when I get better and I'm going to name it Shinta because you gave me the coin."

The elevator finally dinged and opened, going down. The nurse said, "Say goodbye to Mr. Kenshin, Tammy."

"Bye." Tammy waved.

They went into the elevator, going down, and he stood with his head down and his hands in the duster's pockets, waiting for it to return on the trip up. Shinta. He hadn't even thought of that name in a very long time. He hoped she got her kitten.

His anger had definitely turned to morose introspection by the time the elevator came back. The elevator climbed too swiftly to the seventh floor, and he asked at the nurse's station for directions to Heather's room.

"You're her uncle?" The woman said, surprised. "She said her uncle was killed. You're ... young." Unspoken was also the fact that he didn't look Japanese.

"This one was adopted, ma'am."

"Ah," the woman nodded wisely. "She's in room 715. Umm -- you're the uncle she thinks is dead?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good, good. Maybe she'll do better after she sees you."

The room had two beds in it. The first bed was empty, though there was obviously a roommate -- it was unmade and the remains of a breakfast cluttered a table beside it. The second bed ...

Kenshin's breath caught in his throat as he stood in the doorway, surveying her. Heather lay on her side, back to the door. Her blond hair -- black roots showing -- was limp and dirty. She obviously hadn't showered, and she needed to. She looked tiny, impossibly thin, arms twiglike, ribcage outlined under the thin fabric of her hospital gown, bare feet skeletal. The arm with the infected wound on it had been wrapped in bandages.

Silently, he reached behind himself and shut the door. When it clicked closed, she looked up. Dumbly, she stared at him.

"Ken...shin?" Disbelief.

"You should listen to your elders, really you should." Kenshin scolded. "Atsuko told you the truth about this one. She told you that a bullet cannot kill this one, any more than time can. She told you truly. And you did not believe her."

She sat up, and pushed lank greasy hair back from her eyes. Flatly, she said, "What are you, some sort of demon?"

"I am just a man, Akane, nothing more or less."

"Don't call me that," she said, shortly.

He'd not meant to -- he'd forgotten the new name she'd taken. "I am sorry, Heather. You are not Akane anymore and I should not forget."

She winced. Good. He'd meant his tone to make the words to sting a little. _You are not Akane_. He'd loved Akane like he did all the children -- but Akane had been a little special, one he'd spent more time with than most. The girl she'd become, however, he didn't know anymore. This was not the little girl who'd braided his hair and who'd wanted him to play pretend tea-parties -- and truthfully, he'd preferred the tea parties and dolls and silly children's TV shows to the gossip and bickering of her elders. The Sagaras were an argumentative lot, that was for sure.

This was not the little girl who'd become a tempestuous teenager and who had cried on his shoulder more than once over a boyfriend, a bully, a fight with her parents, or a bad test. She'd never been able to talk to her parents about such things, and she'd had no siblings and few friends growing up. Her father's job had caused them to move frequently, occasionally even overseas.

And this was not the teenager who'd become a young woman he'd been pleased to know -- a woman who'd traveled the world, who spoke four languages fluently, who'd been accepted into a premier medical school (which her father had later taken her _out_ of, against her wishes, to send her to the US, because he didn't approve of her boyfriend).

This was not Akane. This was Heather. And he didn't know Heather at all.

She stared at him, eyes dark and full of pain. "Kenshin, do you hate me?"

"No, Heather. I have no hatred for you. Only disappointment and sorrow." Kenshin stood with his hands in his hands cupping his elbows and his eyes downcast. Now that he was here, now that he'd found her, he discovered he wasn't entirely sure what to say. _You're a fool_ was both rude and self-evident. She knew she was being stupid; he didn't need to tell her that, did he? _Stop doing drugs and go back to school_ wasn't likely to have any effect. Maybe if he added, _Please, Heather-dono?_

Meh. No.

"What are you going to do?" She asked, sitting up and hugging herself.

Well, that was an opening, at least. "What would you like me to do?"

Silence, for a moment, then, with no answer from her. Then she asked, "Did you really come all the way from Japan just for me?"

Americans had a comedian with a skit about people so stupid they needed signs advertising this fact. He had found the comedian amusingly rude and a bit shocking when Atsuko had made him watch the show on satellite TV. He was not actually tempted to say, _Here's your sign, Heather-dono_, but he _thought_ it. He simply responded to her, "Yes, Heather, this I did."

"Why? Because of your _oath_?" She managed to make _oath_ sound like a swear word.

"I would have come for Akane, I would, regardless of an oath. I am unsure if Heather merits my time," he spoke calmly, though he felt anything but.

"You asked me what I wanted you to do," she searched his face. "Uncle Kenshin, I need your help ..." she shook her head, and looked away from him, and added, "You're right. Maybe I don't merit your time."

He stepped closer, still cradling his elbows in his hands. He met her eyes, and she sucked in a sharp breath -- he wondered what was showing in his eyes that made her react like that. He was pissed, but it wasn't a hot raging anger that would have made his eyes go amber and gold.

"I thought you died, Uncle Kenshin," she said, again. "It was _my fault_. I'm an idiot."

"This one cannot die from a bullet wound," he repeated, then added, because his annoyance was extreme, "It _was_ your fault. And since you mentioned it, you are an idiot."

He'd never spoken to her so frankly before in her life. English didn't translate literally when it came to honorifics and verb forms and sheer politeness or lack thereof, but there was a hell of a lot you could do with voice tone, and the rudeness of his words carried neatly over the language barrier. He was sure she was mentally translating that back into Japanese and ending up with language that was shocking from him.

Briefly, he considered switching to Japanese. He could get his point across better if he wasn't struggling to find the right words. But no. As long as she spoke English, he'd do the same. Because he had to meet her on the battlefield of her choosing if he hoped to win this fight. She shouted at the top of her lungs, "You have no _idea_ what I've been through!"

Ah. He'd been expecting a temper tantrum. There it was.

She grabbed a pillow off the bed and threw it at him. He didn't even blink, just stood there. The pillow was followed by the little plastic pitcher full of ice water beside the bed. Ice cubes scattered wetly across the floor and water stained his new green t-shirt. It was very cold, but not painful, and he didn't flinch. She would have thrown the TV remote, but it was attached by a cable to the bed. Then she burst into tears. "Kenshin! Kenshin, help me! I don't know what to do! I don't! I'm such an idiot! I've failed everyone!"

He stood impassively, and waited for the tears to end. After a moment, she hiccupped to a stop, and said, "Aren't you ... don't you feel sorry for me?"

"Not particularly."

"But ... you bastard!" The other pillow hit him, and then she flung the plastic tray that the pitcher had sat upon at his head. He batted the latter aside contemptuously. It clattered to the floor.

"Again, what would you like me to do?" He repeated the question.

"You hate me!"

"No. I do not hate you."

"Then why are you doing this to me!"

She was, he realized, not completely rational. It was either an after effect of the drugs in her system or permanent damage to her psyche. He wasn't sure which -- he wasn't a doctor. He could only ask, "What am I doing to you?"

"Standing there!"

_Crazy_ seemed to be a good diagnosis even without a medical opinion. He sighed, unsure if he could help her at all.

_I'm sorry, Sanosuke, _he thought, mournfully. _I may fail you with this one._

She said, teeth gritted, "I want out of here. You can help me get out."

They were committing her against her will -- the doctors said they expected to keep her for several days, until they were sure she was 'stable' and no longer inclined to kill herself. They couldn't keep her longer; she was not a citizen and not eligible for subsidized benefits.

"Did you try to kill yourself?" He asked, calmly. Truthfully, he wasn't sure she _had _tried suicide. She was unstable and angry, but nothing in this woman's demeanor made him think she was suicidal. She wasn't mad _enough _to have done so in a fit of ultimate, 'fuck the world, this will make them sorry!' pique and she wasn't ready to end it to 'make the pain stop', either. He was intimately and personally familiar with the latter mood, figured he would recognize the signs of it, and she wasn't even close to that point. He knew that mood because he'd been there.

No, she wasn't one who would kill herself because she hurt so much that death was preferable to the pain. A _this will make them sorry_ sort of suicide might be something she'd pull, but not right now.

"I didn't. But you won't believe me." Bitterness, anger. And confirmation of what he'd suspected.

"Shark?" He guessed, "He tried to kill you because you were a witness to my 'death'?"

"Yeah." She gave him a surprised look. But really, that hadn't even been a _hard_ guess. "They won't believe me."

He suspected that was because he'd already convinced the cops he was alive, and the doctors thought she'd hallucinated his death. Given the rate at which junkies lied, lying about committing suicide was far more logical than the boyfriend trying to kill her to hide a crime that -- given the walking, talking evidence to the contrary -- hadn't actually happened.

He'd need to deal with Shark, and sooner rather than later. His preference would be to report the man to the police, but doubted that would work in this case. The cops weren't likely to believe her story and what was _he_ going to tell them?

_Officer, this man shot me yesterday. No I don't have a scar, but you have to believe me. _

"Do you wonder why they won't believe you?" He asked.

"There wasn't even any blood in that hallway," she glared at him. "They thought I hallucinated your death."

Oh, that was news. He hadn't been happy about that dangling detail of the presumably bloody hallway, but he hadn't seen anything he could do about it. He frowned at her.

"I came home and the blood was gone," she repeated. "And there was new carpet."

So somebody had cleaned it up. Well, at least he knew the cops wouldn't be looking for the corpse that had owned the blood. Mac, maybe, had taken care of it, or perhaps the building management didn't want any trouble with the police.

The door opened behind him, at that point, and he turned to see the roommate enter -- an old woman pushing an IV stand before her. The woman shuffled to her bed, climbed in it and turned on the TV without a word to them.

Kenshin said, "I'll be back later, Heather. We will talk more. And -- I believe in you."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

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Chapter 8 is almost done, and should be posted in the next few days. I'm actually trying to get this done and out of my freakin' head so I can go back to the work I actually should be doing, hence, the rapid writing rate. The story's complete in my head, it's just a matter of typing really fast to get it out now.

PraiseDivineMercy -- if Hiko's an Immortal, Kenshin doesn't know about it. For the record, it was tempting for me to write Hiko into the story as an Immortal because of the comments about BOTH of them looking young in the show. He could well be -- it could be an explanation for why he adopted Kenshin in the first place. If he sensed Kenshin was a pre-immie and adopted him for that reason, it would make sense. But it's not something I'll touch on in this story. I don't need to.

Janey-in-a-bottle -- ah, but is the little girl just a little girl?

A comment on Kenshin vs. MacLeod's fighting abilities -- Mac's survived 400 years and hundreds of fights to the death. This says he's very good. However, there's a story telling style difference at play here -- anime vs. live action drama. If Highlander were animated -- err, animated with some respect for the characters and universe -- in the same style as RuroKen there's no doubt that MacLeod would have been portrayed similarly to Kenshin, with wild acrobatic leaps and impossible feats of agility and strength.

That said, I'm writing this as if Kenshin IS the better fighter, because it makes "storytelling sense" and in the Highlander universe, MacLeod is never portrayed as the best there is. Kenshin is definitely one of the top swordsmen in his 'verse.

(Highlander was turned into an animated series around 1994, I believe. It sucked in many profound ways and Mac wasn't in it.)

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Outside, it the rain had stopped but leaden grey clouds hung low over the city. The air was cool, crisp, and smelled of the ocean.

He asked directions at the front desk and determined that his hotel room was a few miles from here. He would walk; he needed the exercise and the time to think. He put his hands in his pockets and headed in the direction of his hotel, mulling things over.

Heather was a problem that he wasn't entirely sure how to fix. His first impulse was to simply kidnap her and _make_ her straighten up, but junkies had been around since time immemorial, heroine wasn't too different from opium, and painful past experience had taught him that you couldn't force an addict to go sober. He'd had unfortunate experiences with addiction before -- hell, his master had been a rather bad-tempered drunk.

Didn't matter what the drug was -- the only way an addict would ever clean their life up was if they _decided_ to change their life. And that decision took incredible amounts of resolve and fortitude. Once the decision was made, support from friends and family was helpful. Until then ...

He sighed. The best he could do was give her a safe place to stay until he figured out how to motivate her to make that decision. He'd be apartment hunting, later.

And he'd need to get clean needles, he supposed, no sense in having her catch a disease by using dirty ones -- he made a mental note to make sure she was tested for all the usual nasties and treated for the ones that could be cured. Hopefully, the doctors would do it, but he'd make sure. Some of the scourges of his time could be treated now, which was at least fortunate. She'd been living an unclean life; God only knew what she'd contracted.

After that, he needed to try to get her into a rehab program of some sort -- which, if past experience held true, probably meant a waiting list for a good one, which meant he'd be babysitting a druggie until there was an opening.

Maybe kidnapping would be a viable solution after all ... No. He'd tried that before, a few times, with others. Hadn't worked.

She wasn't a citizen, so the hospital would only provide crisis care at state cost. Anything more than that, someone would need to pay for -- and he suspected that would be him, as her father was going to blow his stack and probably disown her when he found out the details here.

Kenshin wasn't looking forward to that phone call at all. And he needed to make it soon. Maybe he'd get her mother, if fortune was with him.

Mentally, he reviewed his bank balance as it walked. It would be enough for a few months. He'd need to talk to his accountant soon too, move some money around, maybe sell some stocks. He was wealthy, these days, but not inexhaustibly so. At least Seacouver was cheaper than Tokyo. Was he going to be here long enough to let his lease on his apartment in Tokyo go? It was up in a month; he'd either have to renew it or have his things (few though they were) put into storage.

The money spent on an tiny apartment in Tokyo would pay for a palace here. He decided he'd call Atsuko and have her pack his things up. He liked Canada; maybe he'd stay awhile, unless the family needed him.

And, did he want to share the apartment with Heather? If he did, he could keep an eye on her. On the other hand, she'd _know_ he was keeping an eye on her and might end up spending the night somewhere unsafe if she was trying to avoid him. Perhaps it would be best to give her privacy.

Of course, he would need to keep a discrete eye on her -- he foresaw quite a few nights lurking in the shadows in his future. And, given what he'd seen of Heather of late, he mentally added _condoms_ to the list of things that he needed to make sure she had. He'd leave them discretely in her apartment when she wasn't looking, because he didn't think he could actually _hand_ them to her or even say the word in her presence without turning as red as his hair. Buying them was going to be bad enough.

From past experience with her, he gave her a week, tops, after getting out of the hospital before she had a new boyfriend. Because Heather was like that. She'd had a perpetual string of boyfriends since about age fourteen -- something that had infuriated her father, amused her mother, and worried Kenshin. The majority of them had been unworthy. _Losers_, in American slang.

Her choice in boyfriends had worried him because it was a symptom of how desperately damaged her heart was. She'd sought approval from men -- boys, mostly, but she thought they were men -- because she did not get it from her parents. And she'd been willing to accept that approval from a remarkable parade of scum.

He sighed. Life had been _so_ much simpler when he was a penniless wanderer. Really, it had been.

He could hear Kaoro's laugh at that observation. _Ah, Kenshin,_ she'd say, _you wouldn't have your life any other way. You _live _for this. _Well, he'd be happier if Kaoru were still standing at his side, but otherwise, yes, he wouldn't change much about his life if he could.

_Find one like yourself after I die,_ she'd suggested, towards the end, when she was stooped and grey and frail and the neighbors thought he was her handsome young grandson. _Find a woman who will live for you forever. You shouldn't be alone, Kenshin. _

He never had. He'd never so much as looked at another woman in the many decades since she'd died. Kaoru had expressed her opinion of this a few times _after_ death and once, when he'd died temporarily and gone to the light for a little while, both Tomoe _and_ Kaoru had been there and they had ganged up on him, telling him he should not live alone. They'd been _insistent_ and had presented a formidably united front.

After that encounter, he'd dated several women without interest (including Atsuko, who'd been about thirty at the time) and had found he didn't want a girlfriend at all. Though Atsuko had, at least, ended up a good friend and drinking buddy. She sometimes teased him about "being one of the girls" when they went out together, calling him "little sister" now because he looked so much younger than she did, but that was okay -- as long as she wasn't hitting on him.

About once a year, she did proposition him, and once a year he respectfully declined, and they didn't speak for a month, and then they were good again. It was a pattern that had spanned two decades and, he suspected, would continue until she was dead of old age.

Meh! He shook his head in disgust at his own morose and rambling thoughts. His love life, or lack thereof, was not the issue here.

He walked with his hands in his pockets for half a block more, consciously focusing on the new city -- he truly did love to travel -- rather than his troubles. Despite the weather, there were quite a few people about; he watched them with discrete fascination, observing the activities of what was still a very foreign culture to him.

He stopped for a moment to observe a couple of boys playing basketball in a park, then admired a small garden of roses in front of a bank building. There was no real hurry to get to his hotel. A shop window full of trinkets caught his attention; he stepped inside briefly to buy several brightly colored toys and arranged with the shopkeeper to have them shipped to the children whose birthdays would be soon. And he purchased a t-shirt with a cat on it, for Atsuko, and a pair of earrings for Atsuko's mother -- who was one of the last people alive who actually had known Kaoru and Sanosuki and Yahiko, Megumi and Misao and Aoshi, all of them, when she was a child and they were old. She remembered and could reminisce with him about all his friends and his family. She'd even attended school with Kenji's youngest daughter, separated by about four years.

She had funny stories of her own, to remind him of what had once been -- of the practical joke war that had developed between Yohiko and Misao over the years, with ever more elaborate pranks, or the time that Kaoru had gotten mad at Sano at a dinner and knocked him flat in front of many of the younger members of his family. Or the time that the whole gang of them had decided Kenshin 'needed a bath' because he was offensively smelly after a day spent cutting wood for Yahiko's wife, and they -- all grey-haired and elderly -- had ambushed him and tossed him into a pond.

They'd kept him sane, kept him humble. He missed them desperately. And soon, as the last of the eldest generation passed away, his friends would live only in _his_ memories. There would be no one to talk to, no one who knew any of his friends except as faces in old photographs.

He was cutting across another park, head full of memories of times long past, when the buzz tickled at his senses. It was the strong_ ki _of another Immortal.

It wasn't MacLeod, he was sure of that in seconds. He slid a hand under the collar of his new coat and made sure his sword was loose in the sheath and that it wouldn't be fouled by the fabric of his collar if he had to grab it in a hurry. Then he scanned the park, looking for a familiar tall, pony-tailed man.

Who wasn't in sight..

The buzz was coming from the other side of some dense shrubs. Kenshin still wasn't sure if this was Mac or not. With hands in his pockets, he calmly walked around the bushes to see who it was.

The other immortal was headed his way -- they first saw each other from twenty feet away, when Kenshin stepped around a tree. He was average height -- which meant several inches taller than Kenshin -- Asian, with a round face, straight black hair cut just above the ears, and a wiry build. Kenshin thought he had a sword on him, but the _ki_ was strong enough to warn him that this Immortal could do the see-me-not thing with his weapon.

The other Immortal scanned him head to toe several times, then said, with shock, in Japanese, "_Battousai! _It's you!" The man was, apparently, Japanese. The pronunciation was perfect. His expression was comical disbelief.

Kenshin's eyebrows rose and vanished under his bangs. "This one was called that a long time ago."

"Fuck yeah, you were." The man said. His English was equally perfect, and it was either American or Canadian -- Kenshin realized that there was a difference in regional accents in North America, but he wasn't good enough with the language to hear the difference. "I recognized you the moment I saw you. You haven't changed a bit."

"Do I know you, sir?" Kenshin asked, carefully. He racked his memories for a name to go with this face and came up empty.

That question earned him a cold look. "You don't even recognize me, do you, Himura?"

"I profoundly apologize, but I do not know you."

"You do," the man corrected. "But I was a child."

Oh. Kenshin still had no clue. He'd known an awful lot of children in his life -- he was pretty much a kid magnet. One, apparently, had been an Immortal -- and, judging by the tone of this encounter, didn't like him much. The man didn't seem overtly aggressive, but he wasn't shouting, _Kenshin, you're alive!_ with great glee, either. And he'd known him as _Battousai_ and Himura both. Who could this be?

"I am very sorry, but I still do not know you," he apologized. "I wish I did, as it is clear you remember me."

"Still not killing anyone?" The man said, sounding somewhat disgusted. "It may not even be worth the trouble to fight you. I'm actually here for MacLeod. _He's_ worth it, an old Immortal like that."

"I won't let you hurt MacLeod," Kenshin said, with real concern. MacLeod could probably take care of himself, but ...

"Well, then, I might just have to fight you," the man said. "You beat me once, but I seem to recall you were badly injured after that. And I was only a child. And I've beaten you once as well. Shall we find out who will win now?"

Only a child. A child he'd fought. A child with a round face, and an aura that was damnably hard to read, one who'd beaten Kenshin once, but who had lost the second round. _ Barely_, as Kenshin recalled. That had been one of the hardest fights of his life, and had Sojiro taken him seriously and come at him more aggressively in the beginning, Sojiro would have won.

And that fight with Shishio -- and the damage he'd taken earlier in that day -- had, indeed, left him weakened forever. Not a lot, but perhaps enough to affect a rematch.

"Seta Sojiro." Kenshin finally figured it out, as his heart sank. "I had hoped you would find peace."

"I did. I discovered what I truly am. I was born for this, Kenshin. I will win this Game." He sounded proud of the proclamation.

"I will not let you." Kenshin just felt exhausted. He should have done more for the boy; perhaps this was his fault. But after the battle with Shishio, Seta had just disappeared, and no one had seen him again. Obviously, he hadn't been meditating on a mountain top for a century plus of time.

He didn't have _time_ for this, and too many people were relying on him. He couldn't die.

"What are you going to do, talk me out of it?" Sojiro's voice held great scorn. "Have you taken even _one_ head, Himura?"

"No, Sojiro, this I have not." Kenshin said softly. "And I will not."

Sojiro spat. "You're not even worth my time, Kenshin. I've taken hundreds. You're a weak Immortal, and the benefit to killing you would be outweighed by the effort needed to do it."

The man calmly turned his back to Kenshin and walked away. Kenshin debated pursuing him -- but no, this was no place for a duel. Instead he, turned swiftly on his heel and headed for Mac's shop.

--------

MacLeod was packaging an antique pot up for mailing to a buyer when the door to the shop opened. A gust of wet, cold air swirled in to the warm interior of the shop along with the red-haired samurai. It was pouring outside again -- Kenshin was soaked to the skin, red hair plastered flat to his head.

"I thought you were leaving," MacLeod said, amused that Kenshin was back -- again. Kenshin was shivering, and the scar on his cheek stood out in bold relief against pale skin.

Kenshin replied, without any trace of humor, "There's a man out for your head."

"Wow, that's news." MacLeod said, with sarcasm. "Watch me run and hide."

"His name is Sojiro Seta," Kenshin said, voice deceptively mild. MacLeod realized the little guy was truly worried. "If you fight him, he will kill you."

"You know this man?" MacLeod set the pot down.

"Yes. He's good."

"I'm not exactly a beginner at this Game," MacLeod said, skeptically. Kenshin had an arrogant streak, he thought, hidden under that genial smile and friendly air, and he was underestimating him again.

"He may be able to defeat _me_. We've fought before. He won one round, and let me go. I defeated him the second time. I do not wish to try for the best of three, this I do not." Kenshin's words were quiet, but backed by real concern. "He was faster than I ..."

MacLeod had a hard time believing anyone could be faster than Kenshin.

"... and he fought with an unnatural calm, without emotions. I had hoped he would change, find peace and begin to understand and accept his past, but perhaps this was not to be." Kenshin sighed, heavily. There was no trace of the funny, smiling man MacLeod had come to like on his face now. His expression made him look older, and very tired. "I have observed that among Immortals who take many heads, an evil grows in their heart that is supernatural in nature. It may be that Sojiro had a sizable seed of darkness in him at the beginning, and playing this unconscionable Game coaxed that seed into growing and fruiting."

MacLeod said, "So he's after me and not you?"

"He's after Quickenings." Kenshin explained. "He said he considered mine not worth the effort. And while I do not desire a rematch with Sojiro I would not I die without a fight."

"Do you think you could kill him?" MacLeod asked, "If you fought him again?"

Those violet eyes met MacLeod's with sudden intensity. "I will _never_ kill again, Mister MacLeod."

With no exceptions, apparently, for evil Immortals out to kill a friend. Not that MacLeod needed anyone to fight his fights for him -- but had the roles been reversed, he'd have been right there with sword in hand, telling this Sojiro guy to _bring it on_. He wouldn't let a friend lose his head because of a foolish ideal that had no place in the reality they lived. MacLeod shook his head, "I don't understand you at all, Kenshin. Sometimes you've _got_ to kill. It's -- it's the lesser of two evils!"

"I will not kill." Kenshin said with slow emphasis on every word. "Ever. For any reason. If killing is the lesser of two evils, I will find a third way that is not evil at all."

"You're a fucking fool." MacLeod snapped. "Sometimes there _is_ no third way."

"I do not wish to fight with you, Mister MacLeod," Kenshin said, quietly. He had not raised his voice once in response to MacLeod's irritated anger, not even at being called a _fucking fool_. "I wished merely to warn you."

"So what are you going to do now?" MacLeod asked.

Kenshin shrugged. "I do not know. I will think of something."


	8. Chapter 8

-1Chapter 8

-------

Kenshin's hotel room was clean, bland and soulless, and also larger than his apartment in Tokyo -- and, when he quickly calculated the exchange rate in his head, cheaper. It was on the fourth floor, and had nothing distinguishing it from any other hotel room anywhere in the western world.

He'd wandered enough -- both early in his life and later -- to have a solid appreciation for a clean, bland, unassuming mid-rate hotel room, even if the beds were too soft and everything was designed for people _taller_ than he was.

Kenshin pulled his wet boots off and set them on the tile by the door, then shed his rain-wet shirt and jeans, and rummaged briefly through his single small duffel bag to find an old, comfortable gi. The room was toasty warm after the pounding rain ouside; central heating was a wonderful thing. It felt good to get out of the wet clothes and relax.

The TV held no interest for him -- he'd watch certain shows, but none of them were going to be on the TV _here. _Yawning a bit, despite the fact that it wasn't even dinner time yet, he retrieved his laptop from its case and plugged it in.

There were several e-mails from family on mundane things, mostly people just keeping him in the loop -- more and more people were getting e-mail, these days. It was something that amazed him, really, the ability to send a letter electronically in an instant. He was fascinated by technology; Atsuko accused him of being like a raven, attracted to anything bright and shiny and new.

Thoughts of Atsuko reminded him that he'd promised her a phone call. He checked the time; it was late, in Tokyo, but Atsuko was a night owl. He was confident she'd be awake -- she was a photographer and kept very odd hours, often working in the darkroom until well past dawn. He picked up the hotel phone, plugged his calling card numbers in from memory, and put the call through.

A radio was playing a somewhat silly pop song in the background and her voice was friendly, cheerful, despite the very late hour her time. "Moshimoshi!" She shut off the radio only after answering the phone.

"Atsuko-chan." It felt good to speak Japanese again. "I am very glad to hear your voice, my friend."

"Ken-san!" She crowed, loudly. "About time you called me, old man!"

"My apologies, Atsuko-chan. I have had a very long and difficult day. I only now arrived at my hotel."

"How's Akane?" She dispensed with social niceties and got right to the point. One of the things he really liked about Atsuko was that she spoke her mind. This tended to piss many people off, but he valued the conversations he had with her-- and knew, when she gave an opinion, it was real. Too many people tended to put him up on a pedestal.

"Do you even need to ask?" He let some of his irritation slide into his voice. With Atsuko, he could let his guard down. "She's in the hospital. I do not know what to do with her when she gets out."

"Akane's never been the brightest of brats." He could almost see Atsuko's dismissive shrug. "I don't know either. Maybe spank her with the flat of that sword of yours."

"Atsuko!" He said, and laughed despite himself, because Atsuko's sense of humor always did that to him. The woman was incredibly irreverent.

"Seriously." Now he could picture her tucking her legs up to sit cross-legged on the couch, phone to her ear, and probably a cigarette tucked between two fingers. In the background he heard a _whoosh_ of exhaled air. Yep, smoking. "Seriously, Kenshin, how long are you going to stay in Canada?"

"Until she's better, or until I give up and turn her back over to her parents." The latter would be an admission of failure.

"Oh, that reminds me. Toshio said you'd better call him."

Toshio was Akane's father and he _had_ Kenshin's cel phone number. He could call it at any time. Demanding that Kenshin call _him_ was a power game. Kenshin gritted his teeth for a moment, then said, "Aa. I'll call him in the morning. He'd not appreciate me waking him, no he would not."

"You sound _so_ thrilled about that." Atsuko shared his low opinion of her brother-in-law.

"He ... doesn't understand that the more critical of Heather he is, the more she will rebel. She would do anything for praise from him, but that one has a fighting spirit." He trailed off, suddenly, as a thought occurred to him.

"Kenshin-san?" Atsuko said, after he'd been silent for too long.

"It is nothing. I just had an insight into Heather, is all. You know how she always does the opposite of what one wants her to do?"

"You're thinking reverse psychology." Atsuko said. "Dangerous, Kenshin; when I spoke to her on the phone it was clear that she has a very low opinion of herself and she thinks very highly of you. If you say mean things to her, she may simply believe them."

"Not from me." Kenshin lay back on the bed, phone tucked in the crook of his neck, and thought for a moment. He heard Atsuko exhale smoke again. He'd nagged her about smoking many times, and she only laughed. "You're right about that. I think perhaps we can motivate her to improve herself with a combination of 'reverse psychology' and 'good cop, bad cop' -- what do you think?"

"I'll be the bad cop," Atsuko said, cheerfully. "She hates me anyway. Want me to come out for awhile or try to do it over the phone?"

He seriously considered the offer for a long moment. When he didn't immediately respond, she said, "You pay my fare and I'll there in a heartbeat. My visa's still current from that convention a couple months ago, and I'm getting stir-crazy anyway. And it's _hot_ here, we're having a heat wave. Seacouver's supposed to be cool."

"Bring sweaters," Kenshin said, finally, grinning. Then he sobered, "Wait, no, Atsuko, this may not be a good idea."

She said, far too astute, "Uh-oh. Immortal trouble?"

"Yeah," he admitted, "and he's got a past history with me. Soujiro Seta -- someone I fought a long time ago."

"Kenshin Himura, you idiot!" She said, indignantly, "And when were you going to tell me this?"

Now he _knew_ she was coming, whether he paid her fare or not. And he was worried about her safety, because it _was_ Soujiro. On the other hand, she was a grownup, she knew what the risks were, and who was he to tell her not to take them? Still, he made a minor, token attempt at dissuading her. "Atsuko, he's not after my head, he's after the head of a friend. Please do not worry."

"And of course, you're going to get involved, because that's who you are and what you do." Atsuko said, and he could picture the sly, teasing look in her eyes when she added, "An Immortal friend? Is she pretty?"

"Atsuko-chan!" He protested, indignantly. "And no, _he_ is not pretty. Well ..." Kenshin amended, with a grin, "_You_ might think so, but he's got a girlfriend, so no luck there, woman."

"Ah, darn. I'd love to have a man who looks youthful when he's centuries old. Particularly when _I'm_ an old crone and he still looks young. The gossip would just be delightful."

Kenshin dutifully laughed, and forbear mentioning to her that he had, actually, been in that position. The gossip hadn't been delightful at all. Eventually, in Kyoto, as the years passed and he did not age, rumors had started that the _Battousai _was a demon. He and Kaoru had needed to leave, move far away, and start over. They'd told the neighbors they were family, but people had guessed the truth eventually -- or at least, part of it. The gossip had been vicious and had grown and spawned new rumors and nastier assumptions. Few had been willing to accept that the simple truth was that he, a handsome and apparently young man was madly and truly in love with a wrinkled, grey-haired, frail old woman.

"Kenshin, you need me there, don't you?" Atsuko continued, voice softer, revealing a side of her that few people saw -- the side of her that cared about others more than she cared about herself.

"Oro, I ..." Truthfully, he _could_ use a hand with Heather. If Atsuko helped with caring for Heather, it would leave him free to keep an eye on Soujiro and Mac. And she was loyal. And a friend. And she could handle Heather, probably better than he could.

"That would be a 'yes' that you don't want to admit, isn't it, old man?" She said, triumphantly.

"Aa," he admitted in defeat. So Atsuko would be joining him -- probably on the next flight out, if he knew her. "I could use your help, Atsuko, this I could. And thank you."

"Not a problem, old man. Not a problem at all. I knew I should have come in the beginning."

They chatted for awhile on mundane things -- family gossip, weather, her career, and what he thought of Seacouver. Nothing important. Finally, she yawned, reminding him of how late it was in Tokyo. He said, "I should let you get to bed ..."

Softly, teasingly, in a sultry bedroom voice, she said, "... and I wish you were in it ..."

His cheeks were probably as red as his hair. "Atsuko!"

"Hey, hey, I'm not blind, Ken-san." She sniffed at his indignant tone. "I'd have to be, or gay, to not notice your butt in those jeans you wear. And with that note, I _am_ going to bed."

"Atsuko-chan!" he protested at the dial tone. Damn her, she _always_ managed to embarrass him!

--------

He realized he was being followed by another Immortal the following morning, as he walked down a busy street. The other Immortal's _ki_ -- or buzz, as MacLeod would call it -- was incredibly strong. Kenshin slowed down, letting the other catch up.

"Soujiro." He said, as Seta matched strides with him.

"What I don't understand," Soujiro said, conversationally, "Is how you've managed to stay alive all these years without killing anyone. I can't see you cowering on holy ground. You're no monk."

Kenshin shrugged. "This one can defend himself."

"Ye-es, I suppose so." Soujiro had his hands in his pockets and eyed Kenshin sideways, with some amusement. Kenshin realized it was the emotion in those eyes that had made Soujiro so hard to recognize earlier. Whatever had happened to this man, he'd at least found his heart. Unfortunately, Kenshin was worried that the heart that he'd found was blackened and twisted into something ... unfortunate. "That you can."

Kenshin stopped short, folded his arms, and said, "What do you want, Soujiro?"

"My curiosity satisfied, is all," the man regarded Kenshin with some amusement. "I had never thought to see you again. To find you are one of us and still alive -- it's quite the shock, Himura."

"You," Kenshin said, "are not shocked by anything."

"True. Call it an unexpected pleasure, then. I really should thank you, you know." Soujiro said amiably. "For what you did for me."

"Still planning on killing MacLeod?"

"Yep."

"Then don't thank me. He's a good man, Soujiro." Kenshin glared, eyes gone flat and cold and menacing. A lesser man would have stepped back, but Soujiro didn't even really react to that look.

"What are you going to do to stop me?" Soujiro asked, in a conversational tone.

"Don't," Kenshin said, "Test me, Soujiro."

"That was actually an interested question," Soujiro gave him a bright smile -- Kenshin was struck with an acute case of deja vu for the boy he'd been when he saw that smile. "I mean, if you're not going to take my head, we can beat up on each other all day and not resolve anything. Neither of us will take any permanent damage. That is, of course, unless I win and kill you."

Kenshin said coldly, no more impressed by Soujiro's smile than Soujiro had been by his glare, "The last Immortal who tried to kill me is still in jail. Last this one checked, assault is a crime."

"You don't play by the rules, do you?" Soujiro sounded highly amused by this.

"You are the one who has murdered many people, Soujiro," Kenshin said, quietly. "Which rules do you propose to play by? Those of man? Because it's humanity's rules that I live by. Killing is _wrong_."

"I see. So where are you headed?"

"I'm going to deal with a problem." Kenshin said, jaw set, arms at his sides -- had his sword been on his belt and not hidden under his coat, he'd have had one hand on the hilt of the sakabatou.

"Ooh, an enemy?" Soujiro said, "This might be interesting. I think I'll tag along after you."

"No." He said, somewhat startled by Soujiro's decision.

"Stop me, then. Right here, right now." Soujiro's voice held a great deal of amusement in it. "Is this an Immortal enemy or a human enemy?"

"He's not an enemy, he's just a problem." Kenshin said, "And he's human. And you may not come."

"So stop me." Soujiro shrugged.

Kenshin fell silent, mulling over the issue. Soujiro Seta -- his heart had broken for the boy, ages ago. Souji had been so terribly damaged to begin with, and then Shishio had just completed destroying anything human in the child. Or -- almost anything human. There had been something there, too, buried deep within his soul, and it had come out in their second fight. He'd thought perhaps the boy had a chance at finding himself.

He glower turned to a frown and and glanced sideways at Soujiro, who had his hands in his pockets and whose stance was utterly relaxed. He didn't look like a man walking beside a mortal enemy. Soujiro glanced upwards, at the sky and Kenshin followed his gaze -- the storm had broken, and puffy clouds scudded low under beautiful blue. It was a nice day, really.

Were they enemies? Well, if Soujiro went after MacLeod, he was. But otherwise, their history was long past and best buried. And anyway, he'd reached Soujiro's heart once -- maybe he could do it again.

"Very well," Kenshin said, with grace. He stopped at a corner, "Accompany me, then."

Soujiro seemed startled, spluttered in surprise, and then said, "But ..."

"Soujiro," Kenshin said, seriously, "I could use some help with this, to tell the truth. The issue is that my niece had a boyfriend who tried to kill her ..."

"Niece?"

Kenshin ignored that question. "... and I'm taking it a bit personally, I am."

Soujiro blinked. "And you want me to come along."

Kenshin gave Soujiro a sunny smile over one shoulder. The look of surprise on Soujiro's face at his abrupt change of heart made that smile almost genuine. If Souji could be so surprised, perhaps he was not the automaton he'd once been. "Well, I believe you did invite yourself."

"Your ... niece."

Kenshin, hands in the pockets of his duster, crossed at the green light. He explained as he walked, "Heather Sagara is a descendent of Sanosuke, Soujiro. Do you remember Sanosuke?"

"Yeah. He was your best friend. Tall guy. Loyal to you like a big dog."

"I have sworn to protect his family, Soujiro." Kenshin said, very seriously. "I'm worried that Shark will try again, because she doubtless has information on him that the authorities could use -- even if he did not murder me as they both believed."

"What's your plan -- beat the snot out of the bastard?"

"No." Kenshin said, mildly. He paused -- a familiar woman was playing a guitar across the street, under the shade of a tree. "I won't need to."

Soujiro followed Kenshin's gaze and commented on the busker, "She's good."

"One of the most amazing things about the modern world is the music, don't you think?" Kenshin stood with his arms folded, watching the woman. "It's everywhere, free for the listening. It can be recorded and played later -- or broadcast across an entire world, for everyone to hear. They do not appreciate the music, now, or how know how important it once was, but I do. I remember when music was rare and special, when it could not be recorded for later."

"I hadn't thought of that," Soujiro said. "You're right. Once again, you open my eyes, Kenshin-san."

"Now you mock me," Kenshin said, but a faint smile. Souji had a sense of humor. Who would have guessed? He waited for a break in traffic and then hurried across the road to the woman.

She finished the song -- a country western ballad -- before saying, "Kenshin -- who's your friend?"

"Soujiro Seta." Kenshin introduced him as he dropped a five dollar bill in her hat. "Carla, I wish to thank you for your help finding my niece."

"You found her? Good. How is she?"

"She is in the hospital." Kenshin said, "Shark tried to kill her. Do you know where he is?"

Carla paused, and peered at him with an intense frown. "You're not going to go off the guy or something? Because he's a slimy bastard but I won't have any part in murder."

Kenshin wondered if any of his true feelings towards the guy were visible on his face. He didn't think so -- Carla was just being cautious. "No, Carla, I will not kill him. I just want to track him down for the police."

"Right." She eyed first him, and then Soujiro. Kenshin wondered what she made of Soujiro -- the man stood with arms folded, aloof, little expression on his face. At least he wasn't wearing a stupid smile. "Try Fifth and Iron. He's been selling hot stereos out of his car there."

Soujiro dropped several dollar bills into her hat as well. "Thank you, ma'am."

Kenshin commented, as they walked away, "That was kind of you, it was."

Soujiro said without much emphasis, "I've been there -- living on the bare margins of society. I'm not evil, you know."

"No. You're not." Kenshin agreed. Then he pointed out, "But taking the head of a good man would be an evil act."

Soujiro tried to explain, "It's us versus them, Himura. You're a fool to think that it isn't. I intend to be the last Immortal left standing, at the end of the Game. Because otherwise, I'll be dead."

"There's a third alternative there, there is," Kenshin said, "And that is that we _not_ kill each other."

"You are such an idealist." Soujiro shook his head in disgust.

Kenshin gave him a sunny smile, "Why, I thank you, Soujiro-san, I do. That's a genuine compliment."

Fifth and Iron was about a mile away. Kenshin surveyed the intersection and spotted a battered old sedan with Shark sitting on the hood with his back to them. He was talking to a pair of teenage boys who looked rough and tough and were probably not upstanding citizens, Kenshin pointed him out. "You wanted to help? Skirt around to his left side, please. I'll take his right."

"Watch the little gang-bangers," Soujiro said, sounded a little amused. "Sometimes they have teeth. _Yakuza_ are the same everywhere."

"The one on the right has a gun, he does." Kenshin said, mildly. "It's tucked in his belt."

"How can you tell from here?" Soujiro said, with some surprise.

"I'm not _that_ good. I saw him the day before yesterday, I did, when Richie and I were looking for Shark." Kenshin explained. "He had a bulge under his shirt and he was resting his hand on it. His _ki _ felt brash. I will assume he has a gun still; that would seem prudent."

Kenshin paused, then added, "And I _know_ Shark has a weapon. Large caliber, it made a pretty big hole in me, according to Richie and Mac."

"You did not observe this hole?" Soujiro was amused. "How dead were you?"

"All the way dead, Soujiro-san. And MacLeod did not take my head when he could have." Kenshin said, as they walked up the trash-strewn street.

"You _must_ be losing your touch." Soujiro laughed. "You got shot by a punk kid? What happened to the _Battousai_ who could beat me at my best?"

"I chose not to dodge." Kenshin said, unruffled. They were getting close to Shark, who still hadn't turned around. Kenshin made a gesture to Soujiro, directing him left, on the street side of the battered, primer-grey car. Kenshin approached on the right.

Shark was no warrior. Kenshin got within three feet of him, behind him, and stood quietly, hands in the pockets of his duster, waiting to be noticed. The two young gang members were more alert than Shark, and had noticed him when he was twenty feet away -- probably because when Soujiro drifted out into the middle of the street to flank Shark on the other side of the car, it made them both look obviously predatory. They fell silent and stared at him. Kenshin thought they looked like a pair of junkyard dogs, hackles raising, trying to figure out if they should bark.

"... what?" Shark said, realizing his companions were staring over his shoulder.

"Dude, there's some fucker behind you." The boy who Kenshin had identified as likely having a gun said.

"Huh?" Shark still didn't look behind him. Kenshin fought the urge to laugh with black amusement; the man was really very stupid.

Kenshin rolled his eyes, reached out, and tapped Shark on the shoulder. Shark twisted around in surprise.

"Hello. I believe we were having a discussion the other day that was unfortunately interrupted, I do. Shall we continue?" Kenshin's smile was brilliant.

"You're ..." Shark stared. "You're dead! I killed you"

He bolted -- and made it two strides, where he ran full force into Soujiro's unmoving chest. Souji hadn't _been _there a second ago. Shark bounced off and landed on his butt in the gutter, and Soujiro said, with a grin that made him suddenly look _very_ familiar to Kenshin, "Were you leaving? How very rude."

Kenshin glanced at the gang members -- who were grinning in equal amusement. Apparently, they were not friends of Shark. Gun boy said, "Hey Shark, this the guy you said you killed? He looks pretty fucking alive to me."

"I shot him in the chest! I swear!" Shark scrambled backwards until he bumped into Gun Boy's legs.

"You're such a _loser_, Shark." Gun Boy stepped free of Shark, then walked away with a dismissive wave of one hand. "C'mon, Freddie. Let's go."

"You've got to save me ..." Shark said, trying to scramble after them. Kenshin unsheathed his sword and tapped Shark on the nose with the tip. Shark froze on his hands and knees, went cross-eyed, then bawled, "Please! He's going to kill me!"

"Like I care!" Gun Boy called over his shoulder. He saw the sword and said, "Woah! Big knife, dude! I need to get me one of those!"

"Appealing young man," Soujiro laughed.

Shark made a sudden move towards the pocket of his leather jacket. Kenshin wrapped him hard on the knuckles with the sword. "Do not try it, Mister Shark. I have little desire to be shot again."

Shark stuck his bruised knuckles into his mouth and stared up at Kenshin. Kenshin realized the man had tears in his eyes.

Kenshin let his eyes go gold, let the rage surface, gave his carefully checked temper just a little bit of a loose rein. "Do you have any idea what I am?"

The man recoiled. Gibbered something incoherent.

"You can't kill me with a gun," Kenshin growled. "_You_ couldn't kill me if you tried. You hurt someone I care about. I am _pissed_."

There was a sudden urine scent, accompanied by a wet stain on the front of Shark's trousers. In a panic, with a howl of fear, he grabbed for the gun in his pocket.

Kenshin smacked Shark's hand with the sword, hard enough that bones broke and blood sprayed. Shark howled and doubled over around his hand. Then, with surgical precision, Kenshin flipped the sword upside down and cut the fabric of the man's jacket so that the gun tumbled out of the man's pocket. He then bent over, picked the gun up, emptied the bullets out of the clip and chamber, one-handed, then tossed the gun into the air.

With impossible speed he sliced the sakabatou through the air and through the gun. Two pieces hit he ground with twin clatters.

Shark whimpered.

"Touch Heather and we'll meet again." Kenshin paused, then said, in a slow, menacing voice, "You will do _exactly _what I say or we'll meet again. You will get in your car now, you will drive to the nearest police station, and you will turn yourself in. You will confess to every crime you have committed since you became an adult, excepting those that directly involve my niece. Do you understand?"

A sob. It sort've sounded like, "Y-y-yes."

"Good. Do this and you will not need to fear me. Go."

Shark scrambled to his feet, darted around Soujiro, and bolted for the driver's side door. He peeled rubber getting away.

"Anyone ever tell you that you're one scary bastard, Kenshin?" Soujiro said, with amusement. He was grinning. "Thank you for the entertainment. I had wondered if the _Battousai_ still lived along with Kenshin Himura."

Kenshin wasn't smiling at all. He just looked at Soujiro for a moment, then pocketed the bullets from the gun and headed back in the general direction of his hotel room.


	9. Chapter 9

-1Chapter 9

--------

MarbleGlobe -- Re: Darius & Kenshin -- Darius did, indeed, believe in never killing. However, he hid away on holy ground and was not living in the world. MacLeod, I think, will be a lot less tolerant of Kenshin's refusal to kill because he sees Kenshin as a warrior like himself. Darius was no warrior. (And yes, I know he was originally, but not by the 1990's

Janey -- I needed a "villain" who could be Kenshin's match in a fight and realistically be a threat to MacLeod, was the right physical age, and met a few other requirements. It came down to Seta or Enishi, and I decided Seta worked better given the direction I'm going with this. (And there would have been too much irony with Enishi. Irony is a good thing until carried to excess, then you get irony poisoning.)

--------

By now, MacLeod reflected, he should be used to Kenshin dropping in unannounced. The little samurai's quiet buzz only briefly proceeded him though the shop's front door. He looked calmer than he had the day before, and he was armed again -- MacLeod could tell by a subtle change in his stance that he had the sword over his shoulders, even if he was carrying it low enough that not even the hilt showed.

"Good morning, Ken-san," MacLeod said, as he swept the shop. Despite his irritation with Kenshin's philosophy on the Game, he'd decided he liked the man. He wasn't the first Immortal that MacLeod who had befriended who was more lamb than lion. However, he _was_ the first who could chase Mac around a warehouse with a sword who refused to play the Game.

Kenshin nodded greeting, "It is a beautiful morning, Mister MacLeod."

"To what impending disaster do I owe this meeting?" MacLeod asked.

He'd been joking, but his comment caused Kenshin's eyes to widen, and then darken. "I am truly sorry for any inconvenience that I have caused you, Mister MacLeod." Kenshin sounded worried.

"I was _teasing_." MacLeod said, shaking his head. "What's up, Kenshin?"

"Mister MacLeod ..."

"Mac. Or Duncan." MacLeod interjected.

"Mac." Kenshin corrected himself. MacLeod gave him five minutes before he forgot again. His somewhat stilted English was only a faint reflection of the man's phrasing in Japanese -- Kenshin spoke Japanese with a peculiar humility. It was an affection, MacLeod thought. He'd said he was _atoning_, perhaps he chose to speak like he was the most humble of men because he felt he was unworthy compared to the rest of the human race. MacLeod wasn't entirely sure. Kenshin continued, "I was wondering if I could borrow Richie again. I promise I'll keep him safe ..."

MacLeod held a hand up, forestalling Kenshin's additional apology for getting shot in front of Richie. He glanced in the direction of the back part of the shop, where their living quarters were. It was early -- Richie was awake, but probably not coherent. "Sooner or later, Richie's going to be one of us. We both know this. I'm not so much worried about_ keeping him safe_ as I am about him learning about life. The school of hard knocks is good for him. Just don't get him killed."

_Kenshin_, Mac thought, _Is good enough to keep Richie out of trouble if it comes to swordplay, but Richie may find out a bit more about the nature of Immortals if he tags around after him. _

Kenshin nodded gravely. "I understand, Mister MacLeod."

_Hah. Less than thirty seconds for the Mister to come back!_

"Call me _Mac, _Kenshin. So what do you need Richie for?" MacLeod asked, conversationally.

"Advice, mostly," Kenshin said. "I need to find a car, and decent apartments for Heather and I. I believe he knows something of cars. And, perhaps, he can give advice on decent apartments close to the clinic that Heather will be going to after she gets out of the hospital. He said he lived in the area."

Mac grinned. "Ah, yeah, Richie knows cars."

Kenshin's expression was a bit puzzled. There had been a hint of snark in Mac's voice.

"He can also tell you where _not_ to shop for a car. So you're going to stay in Seacouver for awhile?"

"As long as Heather needs me, I am." Kenshin put his hands in his pockets, and sighed.

"Do you need work?" MacLeod asked, a serious question. Kenshin obviously knew weapons, and could demonstrate their use to buyers. And he was fluent in Japanese and English. A good number of MacLeod's buyers were from Japan, it would be useful to have someone who spoke the language _really well_ rather than just acceptably well. It would have to be under the table -- he doubted Kenshin had a work visa, if he had a visa at all -- but MacLeod wasn't worried about that. _Live four hundred years and you get rather used to circumventing bureaucracy. _

Kenshin gave him a startled, sideways look then shook his head. "No, but I thank you for the offer. I have enough money, as long as I live simply. I've a small inheritance and I live off the interest. And 'living simply' in this day and age is a life of amazing luxury compared to what I was born to."

"Are you sure? I could at least use someone to translate _kanji_ for me." Mac read some, but not a lot. And forget writing it.

"You are too kind to this one." Kenshin's smile was genuine. "If I needed the work, MacLeod, I would accept. However, if it is simply a translation you need, I will do that gladly, and at no charge. Mind, however, that my English is not the best. And I am very bad at reading and writing in English."

"Your English is better than that of some native speakers. Don't put yourself down, Kenshin." MacLeod said, with a bit of annoyance.

"Kenshin?" Richie stepped into the shop, and blinked at the man. His 'Kenshin' had been half greeting and half somewhat incoherent question,_ Why was Kenshin back?_ "G'morning. Mac."

Richie, MacLeod reflected, was _not_ a morning person. "Finally wake up?"

_Mumble_, from Richie.

"There's a couple dozen boxes out by the back door that need to go the post office. Would you drop them off for me?" MacLeod asked, "Send the sword insured -- it's the long, narrow, heavy box -- and the rest media mail. They're just some old books Tessa picked up for an interior decorator friend. Then Kenshin needs someone to drive him around to find a car."

"Take the Thunderbird?" Richie woke up.

MacLeod tossed him the keys. Richie grinned and said to Kenshin, "Car shopping, hmm?"

"I will be staying in Seacouver for awhile. This is a large city and what I pay in gas I will save in the cost of shoes." Kenshin said, serenely.

"Wait a second, did you _walk_ all the way here from your hotel?" Mac said, impressed.

"Yes." Kenshin said, then added, "I've crossed Japan on foot, Mister MacLeod. This is nothing."

"I did too," Mac snorted, "Before they invented cabs."

"Yeah, Kenshin, you do know how to call a cab, don't you?" Richie teased.

"And _Mac_." MacLeod said, still grinning. This was also a form of Kenshin-hassling, which appeared to be a game that was going to be a great deal of fun. The man's personality just invited gentle ribbing. And truthfully, he was glad that Kenshin was sticking around -- occasional annoyance about the man's ideology aside, he was one of the good guys.

"My apologies," Kenshin shrugged. "It is habit, and hard for me to call anyone by a -- nickname."

"Being called 'Mister' by a friend is weird, Kenshin," MacLeod said, with emphasis on the _friend_ that he hoped that Kenshin picked up. "_Mac_."

Kenshin regarded MacLeod silently for a moment, then simply said, "Very well, I will call you Mac."

---------

Richie guided Mac's car out onto the street with painful care -- he was more than a little petrified that he'd scratch the paint -- and asked, "What kind of car are you looking for?"

"Cheap, and reliable enough to last several months. Preferably one that I can sell for close to what I pay for it when I leave." Kenshin paused, then added, "A blue one would be good. I like blue."

Richie glanced sideways at Kenshin, wondering if he was joking about the _blue_ part. But Kenshin appeared to be serious. He'd hunched down into his coat, and looked cold -- the top was down on the Thunderbird and it was a cool morning. His skin was pale, making the crossed scar on his cheek stand out in bold relief.

_There's a tragic story behind those scars,_ Richie thought -- then blinked, wondering how he knew that. Something tickled at his memory for a second then was lost.

"What happened to your cheek, if you don't mind me asking?" Richie asked, curiosity getting the better of his manners.

Kenshin was silent for so long that Richie thought he'd offended the man. Then Kenshin said, "One half was from a man I murdered as the _Battousai_. I later married his fiancé. She gave me the other half of the scar."

Bald, stark words. The look in Kenshin's eyes stilled any further curiosity that Richie might have had, despite the obviously juicy story there. It was a bleak, flat expression full of ancient sorrow and guilt. Richie said, "I'm sorry if I pried."

"I would rather people ask than stare, I would." Kenshin's smile was wan. "Do not feel bad for asking."

"So." Richie changed the subject, "Nice morning, isn't it?"

"Beautiful." Kenshin said, despite the fact that he was doing a pretty good turtle impression under his coat. He'd turned the collar up around his ears and had pulled his arms into the sleeves. "Richie-san, do you believe in reincarnation?"

_Huh?_ Richie thought, puzzled by the abrupt change in topic from weather to metaphysics. "Like somebody being Cleopatra in a past life? Nah."

"Yet you believe in Immortal beings who cut off each other's heads to gain their experience and power." Kenshin sounded a little sarcastic and, somehow, a lot amused.

_Odd dude, _Richie thought. "Guess I've never really thought about it. I suppose it's possible."

"Yes." Kenshin said, simply, giving him a searching look.

_Okay, I've officially reached my weird quotient for the day._ Kenshin's expression was very, very strange -- distant, yet somehow intent. It looked like he was looking right_ through_ Richie. Richie gave him another glance, then turned his attention back to the road. He stopped at a light, drummed his fingers on the wheel, and waited for it to change.

Kenshin's cel phone buzzed; Richie jumped. Kenshin glanced at the display and then said, "My apologies, Richie-san, it is Heather's father. I need to take this call."

He answered the phone in Japanese. Richie couldn't follow the conversation, but he could certainly tell from Kenshin's expression that he wasn't happy. Kenshin didn't say much, just an occasional, "_Aa_." This continued for several miles. Richie could hear an angry voice -- tinny, but still loud -- coming from the phone. Heather's dad was sure reading Kenshin the riot act.

"Aaa. _Atsuko-chan._" Kenshin managed to get four syllables in when the man paused to draw a breath. Then, with apparent exasperation, Kenshin said, "_Hai!" _

The man continued, even louder now. Kenshin kept opening his mouth, as if attempting to say something, but the man's words continued unbroken. Richie wondered how he could breath. Kenshin sat there with one finger upraised for awhile, as if wishing the man would pause and let him say something, then leaned back against the seat, mouth closing. His expression became resigned.

"Aaa ..." Kenshin said at last, then something else -- and trailed off in mid-sentence. He pulled the phone from his ear, squinted at the display, then put it away and sighed. "Toshio-san would have me kidnap his daughter and send her home by any means necessary to be subjected to his temper."

"Are you going to?" Richie asked, curiously.

Kenshin didn't smile at all when he said, "I am his daughter's oathsworn guardian. He mistakes me for a servant."

"Can he do anything to you?" Richie wondered.

"He is a wealthy businessman who has many local political connections and he thinks he can make my life difficult for false documents." Kenshin said, sounding remarkably calm. "My papers, of course, are not legitimate. The current claim is that I am an American-born child adopted by Japanese relatives."

So he could -- what, get you arrested? Deported?"

With the same utter calm, Kenshin said, "No."

"Yeah?"

Kenshin gazed off into the distance, a small frown on his face. "This humble one has been helping people for a very long time. Toshio has only been making enemies. He gives orders expecting them to be followed and rages when they are not. He does not realize the resentment that he has created, this he certainly does not."

_--------_

The car ended up being a truck -- an older Chevy with a dent in one door and in dire need of new brake shoes judging by the squeaking, but otherwise in drivable shape. No rust, and not many miles on it. It was the first vehicle he'd seen that was in decent shape and in his price range.

Kenshin guided his new purchase into a gas station and walked inside to pay for fuel. He'd fix the brakes this evening -- that was a simple repair, and one he could do himself. He'd need to find a shop that sold the necessary parts and tools. Fixing things was an extension of _cleaning_ things, and he was good at both. The truck needed a good wash, too. He'd do that after he fixed the brakes.

It was _blue_, and he was happy with that. He liked blue.

A strong buzz alerted him to the other Immortal's presence; he was not surprised to find that Soujiro was inspecting his new purchase when he returned to the pump.

"I like your wheels, Kenshin." Soujiro commented, as Kenshin gave him a brief look before pumping the gas.

"It runs well, it does." Kenshin said. "How did you find me?"

"I saw your hair as I was driving by. And I was looking for you and I thought you'd be close to the hospital or MacLeod's place. You know that I never pictured you driving at all."

"I'm just full of surprises, I am." Kenshin said, cheerfully.

He realize Soujiro knew where MacLeod lived, and his good mood slipped a bit. This wasn't a huge surprise; either MacLeod was listed in the phone book or Souji had found him through the Immortal grapevine. Immortals knew each other, and talked; it was only natural. And MacLeod, as good as he was, doubtless had plenty of enemies who'd be delighted to aim a very good swordsman in his direction.

Kenshin wondered why Soujiro hadn't challenged Mac yet. Was he just playing games or having second thoughts?

"So where are you headed?" Soujiro asked.

"I am going to the hospital. I'm will visit my niece. Then I'm going to fix the brakes on this vehicle, I am, because the shoes are worn out."

"Ah, and I suppose that you do not wish company on that errand. Very well, then."

He hesitated. Did he want Souji knowing what Heather looked like?

Maa, probably it wouldn't matter one way or another. Soujiro was obviously following him around, and would see Heather sooner or later. Soujiro didn't strike him as the type to involve others; if Souji wanted his head he'd simply challenge him for it -- or ambush him, if the challenge didn't work. Kenshin smiled cheerfully and gestured at the truck. "You can come, if you wish."

Soujiro blinked at him, then said simply, "No, thank you. But I will find you later."

----------------

An aide at the nursing station hailed Kenshin as he stepped off the elevator. "Mister Himura!"

He walked over, hands in his pockets, concerned by the tone of voice. "Is something wrong?"

"You are Mister Himura, right?" The woman made a vague gesture in the direction of her cheek, then looked embarrassed to even be referring to his scars. Kenshin wondered what she'd think if she could see the rest of him. "They said you had red hair, and ah ..."

"A cross shaped scar on my cheek, yes." _I am aware it is there. Did you think I had never noticed?_

She turned a bright red. He felt sorry for his irritation with her, and simply asked, "Is it about Heather?"

"Y-yes. They moved her in to the locked psych ward an hour ago. We caught her trying to steal another patient's morphine. From the man's drip." The woman said, sounding more than a little mad. "I'm sorry, Mr. Himura, I know she's your niece, but I must say that ..."

"I know she has, as you would say in English, '_issues.'_" Kenshin sighed, very heavily. "She also is -- was, I suppose -- a medical student, and she has volunteered in a hospital as well. You might keep that in mind in caring for her. She knows how to operate the equipment."

"Well, that explains a bit." The nurse rolled her eyes. "They're kicking her out as soon as she's done with detox. Four, maybe five, days. I'm sorry, but ... this isn't really a place for her. Her issues, as you say, are in her head, not medical."

Given how extremely thin she was, Kenshin would have debated the point about her problems not being medical. He'd seen starvation before and knew just how quickly things could go bad with someone that malnourished. Her resistance to infection had to be nil. However, he simply said, "Can you recommend a good private facility? Money is not a tremendous object."

She squinted at him. "You're dead set on help her, aren't you?"

"If I can." Kenshin met her gaze levelly. "I am aware that the Heather I knew as a child is lost, and may never be found again. But I have to try. I _promised_ someone I would, on his deathbed."

"You're a funny one." The nurse shook her head. "Okay, look, the best private clinic in town is Marcy's House. I'll talk to her doctor and see if we can't get you a referral."

"I thank you." He smiled, and was rewarded by a brief smile in return from the aide.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

-------------------

Janey -- re: Richie -- I'm trying to stay within shooting distance of canon for this story, so Richie's going to be dealing with a nagging sense of deja vu and Kenshin is going, "Is he or isn't he?" and giving Richie funny looks, but I don't think I'll write anything more than that.

I do plan to write a sequel once I re-watch Highlander, set some years after this story -- which is set around 1992/1993.

There's three ways I can go with _Richie_ in the sequel -- Richie's alive (season six never happened or the story is set during season five), Richie's already dead, or, alternately, I could go AU at the end of season five. I could write a fic where Kenshin somehow saves Richie from MacLeod. Each has problems and advantages that I've got to think through and I honestly don't know what I'm going to do. I need to watch Highlander back to front before deciding on something.

I'd certainly welcome input from readers on what _they_ would like to see, and why. (Message me rather than put it in the reviews, please.)

Richie's death, by the way, was _very_ unpopular in Highlander fandom. From a fan-reaction standpoint, it would be more like Kenshin killing _Yahiko_. Personally, I think that's when Highlander jumped the shark and I know it's when I stopped watching religiously. I still caught the occasional episode because, let's face it, Adrian Paul is hot. And Peter Wingfield (Methos) isn't bad either! But the magic was gone from the show for me after that point, and I was simply watching for the eye candy.

(Oh, one other note for the people who've mentioned age issues -- remember, this is set in 1992, season one of Highlander. So I need to edit things to correct his age, but by Western reckoning, he's about 142-143 in this story, not 156. However, I may have some age issues in this chapter that will be fixed in the final draft later -- re: Souji's age and Kenshin's age when they first started started fighting as kids.)

------------------

Atsuko hated flying. She wasn't actually _scared_ of flying, it was all the inconvenience surrounding it that she loathed. Airports were loud, and crowded, and dirty. They were either hot or cold, never any happy medium in between. Airplanes themselves were cramped and uncomfortable. Then there was the whole hassle of being separated from one's belongings ...

She waited, impatiently, for the other people to deplane. It had been four days since Kenshin had called her about Atsuko -- she'd have been here sooner, but it had taken a few days to find a flight, and the last minute flight had involved an overnight layover in Los Angeles.

The plane from LAX to Seacouver had been unbelievably cramped, every seat full. Worse, she had been surrounded by a Brazilian athletic team -- rugby? soccer? -- thwarting any attempts at conversation -- they didn't speak Japanese or English -- or any of the other dozen languages she spoke with varying degrees of fluency. Her knowledge of Portuguese began and ended with one rude word. Which she'd needed to use on one of the men.

God, she needed a smoke.

Finally, she followed the broad shoulders (and muscular butt) of the last soccer player out of the plane. The terminal was chaos. People shouting, nearly incoherent garbling from a loudspeaker, an ecstatic and noisy family reunion. At first, she didn't see Kenshin, but experience had taught her to look farther from the gate. He'd be in the background, not crowding forward with everyone else. She wasn't sure why he always held back -- either natural reticence, or perhaps simply a desire not to get trampled underfoot.

_There_.

Kenshin was an island of calm in the sea of people. Despite his small size, people gave him room; he seemed to own personal space all out of proportion to his height. Maybe it was the way he stood -- squarely, arms folded, expression neutral. And still -- so very, very still. He never fidgeted, never wasted motion.

When he saw her, that calm look changed to a smile.

"Kenshin!" She hurried towards him, hugged him. Under his coat, he was thinner than she remembered -- he probably hadn't been eating right again. She frowned, hating to feel that -- she knew just how precarious his life as an Immortal was, and he needed to eat right to be in peak shape.

"Oro!" He protested, "Atsuko, I'm glad to see you, but I can't breath!"

She let him go, stepped back, and regarded him with some amusement. The amusement quickly turned to concern, however, when she realized that his smile wasn't reaching his eyes. He looked drawn, and the smile faded too quickly.

"Is it that bad?"

"Oro?"

She was amused, a bit, at being able to draw two _oros_ out of him that quickly. He realized, however, that she'd read his expression, and he sighed, and said, "Heather. Akane. Yes. It's that bad. I fear she's lost to us."

While they walked to the baggage carousel, he explained, "According to her doctor, she palmed a syringe somehow -- we're still not sure how -- and used it to draw morphine out of a cancer patient's IV drip. I am somewhat unsure if I even _want_ to help her, at this point."

"Your oath," Atsuko murmured, quietly. She rested a hand on his shoulder, tugged until he stopped walking and turned to face her. Yeah, despite his words, he was hurting, and not just because of the oath. Because this stubborn, kind, compassionate man truly hated to fail at anything, much less with one of _his_ kids. His eyes were the darkest she'd seen in a long time, and when he met her gaze again, she saw grief there. He was mourning already, though the girl wasn't dead. _Yet. _Mourning a child they'd both known and loved.

"A promise, yes. It's frankly the only reason I'm still here, Atsuko. I must try. But I fear I should have done more, earlier, rather than trusting Akane to have _some_ common sense." He spoke frankly. Strangers swirled around them, hurrying past. "If I'd followed her here a year ago ..."

"Kenshin, you _can't_ blame yourself for her idiocy. You may not be mortal, but you're also not perfect." She sighed, and changed the subject. "So you said you have an apartment?"

"Yes. It's month to month, and not in the best neighborhood, but it's close to friends and close to a clinic where Atsuko will be receiving treatment."

"Inpatient?"

"No." Kenshin sighed, and said with quite a bit of anger threatening to erupt in his voice, "She's refusing inpatient treatment. We can't force her without involving the law. And that will likely result in her being deported. As it is, she's lucky the hospital didn't call the cops over the stunt with the morphine."

"Ouch." _Toshio is in Japan; her being deported is something we want to avoid._ _My sister was and is a fool for putting up with that bastard, _Atsuko thought, with some venom.

"Yes." Kenshin agreed. This time it was his turn to change the subject. He said, "So how many suitcases did you bring?"

"Not _that_ many," she protested, with a laugh. "Not given that I expect to be here a long time!"

"We'll need a cart, I see," his grin was teasing, even if his eyes remained dark and troubled. He was making an effort, she realized, to cheer _her_ up. And dang it, she was going to let him.

"Maybe two," she said, and forced herself to laugh at the wide-eyed look he gave her. She fluffed her hair -- short, cut just above the ears, girlishly young despite her forty-five years -- with one hand and pouted prettily at him. "After all, a girl needs her stuff to look her best when she's living with the man of dreams."

"It'll take more than a few suitcases of clothes to look _your_ best, old woman," he retorted, grinning. Then ducked, when she swatted him with the back of her hand.

"Ah, only two suitcases of clothes and crap, and that's one more than I usually bring and you know it. The rest ..."

"... Is enough cameras to equip an entire tour bus of tourists." Kenshin snickered.

They both sobered, though, too quickly. It just wasn't that funny.

"Are you very tired?" He asked, politely.

"Why do you ask?" She realized belatedly that she'd missed a chance to make him blush. Darn. There _had_ to have been some sort of innuendo she could have made out of that. _Ah, well, probably not the right time. It's more fun when there's an audience, anyway._

"Because if you're not, we have an invitation to eat with MacLeod and Tessa and Richie."

"MacLeod's the other Immortal you mentioned?" She'd never met anyone else like Kenshin; this was, she knew, probably deliberate on his part. He didn't want to put her in danger. Apparently, he trusted MacLeod quite a bit.

"Aa. Tessa's his girlfriend and Richie's his -- well, I would say apprentice, but I believe MacLeod may use another term, I'm not sure. They're all good people."

---------

Mac sat alone at a table, nursing a drink and waiting for the others to arrive. The drink was non-alcoholic, he'd taken Kenshin's warning about Soujiro reasonably seriously.

As promised, Kenshin had swung by the store earlier that day to help Mac decipher some _kanji_ that Mac was unfamiliar with. Tessa had invited the little Immortal out to dinner when she'd heard his friend was arriving in town. MacLeod was not unhappy about this; he'd rather rapidly become fond of the guy. _He reminds me of Darius, only with more of an edge. He's younger, and he lives in the world -- in truth, he rather seems to _like _the modern world -- rather than hiding from it._

MacLeod sipped from a glass of wine and leaned back in his chair. This was a small, friendly neighborhood bar and grill -- one of a dozen in the gritty industrial neighborhood he called home. Tessa and Richie would be arriving later, after they ran a few errands. Kenshin and his buddy were due any minute. In fact ...

A buzz warned of the arrival of another Immortal. For half a second, Mac assumed it was Kenshin, then he realized that the owner of the buzz was _significantly _more powerful than Kenshin -- on par with Darius, or Connor, or any of the centuries-old people he knew, for strength. He sat up in his chair, eyeing the entry. This could be nothing: it could be a good guy, or it could be a problem.

The man who entered was slim, average height, and nobody MacLeod knew. Asian, but no particular distinguishing characteristics. He was a couple inches shorter than Mac's own height, which wouldn't be a significant difference in a challenge. Solidly built, too -- they weighed about the same. His face was round, youthful; he'd been in his mid to late twenties when he'd died the first time. He was fit, without an ounce of spare flesh on his lean frame.

The man scanned the room, spotted MacLeod, and headed over. "Hello. I hope you don't mind me joining you."

His voice was pleasant, and held not a trace of any accent other than an American one. Somewhat impolitely, Mac said, "You are?"

"Ah, forgive my lapse of manners. I'm Soujiro Seta. I already know you're the Highlander. Duncan MacLeod."

"Kenshin said you planned to challenge me," MacLeod said, conversationally. "I'd rather not."

This got him a bright smile. "I've heard that before."

MacLeod's internal warning bells screamed loudly. Uh-oh. The guy had just tagged himself as _trouble_. If he'd challenged immortals who didn't want to fight, that automatically made him a bad guy in in MacLeod's head. Furthermore, MacLeod had already decided the man was probably good with a sword -- he had that certain dancer's grace, the cat-footed poise, of someone with very good reflexes and a high degree of athletic skill. His hands, resting calmly on the table, were callused. He had no obvious major scars, unlike Kenshin's battered body, but there were a few old, faded nicks on his fingers. He was lithe, not really skinny, just not overly bulky. So he'd be quick and have a reasonable amount of power.

Kenshin had said, _He's faster than me_, and MacLeod had doubted it at the time.

Be interesting to see the truth, there. But -- hopefully not. He didn't really want to fight this man. Though a nagging sense of responsibility said that maybe he should.

"I make a habit of not fighting if I can avoid it," MacLeod said, mildly, "But I've taken my share of heads. Some of them have been from people ages older than you."

"I'm evil," the man said, with the same bright smile. "Don't you wish to stop me? If you let me go, I might kill people you consider friends."

MacLeod regarded the man levelly. He took that as a blanket threat, and not a generic statement. _Richie_, if the guy was going after Quickenings. And either Tessa, or Richie, if he was trying to provoke MacLeod. He said, quietly, "Where do you want to meet?"

Which was when another buzz, quieter, warned of the approach of a third Immortal. Both of them looked towards the door; Soujiro said, in annoyance, "Kenshin," and didn't offer a location.

"Yes. We were going to eat dinner together." MacLeod said. The thought of food made his stomach curdle, now.

Kenshin stood in the doorway with his friend behind him. He'd simply said a friend was coming; he hadn't mentioned it was a woman -- and pretty. She was a few inches taller than Kenshin, with hair bobbed short just above her ears, and stylish jeans and a sparkly t-shirt on. MacLeod took her for about twenty at first, then revised her age upwards a bit. Older, but dressing young, and with naturally clear, beautiful skin.

Kenshin himself was glaring at Soujiro. _Those_ were not the eyes of the same friendly, funny man MacLeod had gotten to know before.

"Hello, Himura-san," Soujiro said, "You brought a date."

Kenshin glanced at Atsuko. "This is my friend Atsuko Sagara."

Soujiro's eyebrows rose. He gave the woman a second look for reasons that MacLeod didn't entirely understand. In response, she folded her arms and glared back at him. MacLeod realized, belatedly, that the woman was rather athletically built. She had muscles in places women normally didn't.

Oh, wait, _Sagara_. That was also Heather's last name. So this was a relative to the girl; not really a relative to Kenshin.

"Atsuko, this is Duncan MacLeod, and Soujiro Seta."

In Japanese, she said, "_They're so cute, Kenshin-san._"

"And they both speak fluent Japanese, that they do." Kenshin said, in English, with a grin.

To Atsuko's credit, she didn't blush. She simply grinned at them, and sat down in a chair -- Kenshin, with another dirty look at Soujiro, sat down also.

"So I understand that you are one of Sagara Sanosuke's descendents?" Soujiro said, with amusement, to Atsuko.

"He was my great-grandfather." Atsuko explained. Pointedly, she asked, "Did you fight him?"

MacLeod gave her another sharp look, weighing her appearance and her apparent friendship with Kenshin. Apparently, this women knew quite a bit about Immortals. _Friend_, right. He wondered just how much of a _friend_ this woman was. The, _They're cute_ comment might have been her teasing a lover, or a comment between two friends. He wasn't sure.

"No. Only Himura." Soujiro met Kenshin's frankly cold gaze with a hint of a smile.

"How is it that both of you are still walking around after that fight?" MacLeod asked, feeling a bit adrift here, and wanting to know exactly where the two stood.

"Himura-san won," Soujiro said, readily, "And he will not kill. Also, I was not Immortal then. I'm not sure about Himura's status."

Kenshin shrugged, not answering the question about his mortal status at the time. MacLeod frowned at Soujiro and revised his estimate of the man's age downwards. Kenshin was about a hundred and forty years, give or take; Soujiro had known him as a mortal. Therefore, Soujiro couldn't be older than Kenshin.

He'd taken a _lot_ of heads to be that powerful that quickly.

"How is your niece?" Soujiro asked.

Kenshin gave MacLeod an unreadable look, then said mildly, "Not doing well, I am afraid."

"You'll be happy to know Shark did as you said. I asked, later. I have a friend in the police department." Soujiro said, with another bright smile. "He was the laughing stock of the precinct for days, apparently."

Kenshin said mildly, "Sometimes humiliation is good for the soul."

Soujiro smiled.

"Ah -- did you two do something to Shark?" MacLeod asked, puzzled and intrigued. Was, or wasn't, Soujiro a bad guy? He was finding it very difficult to read the man. And how did Kenshin fit into this. He'd thought Kenshin was strictly on the side of the light, but Soujiro didn't seem to consider him an outright enemy.

"Yes, Kenshin, what did you do this time?" Atsuko said, with some amusement.

_This time? _MacLeod observed, _Does he make a regular habit of playing vigilante superhero?_

"Kenshin," Soujiro said, with apparent appreciation, "Scared that bastard so badly that he pissed his pants. Broke his fingers, too. Then he ran and confessed all his sins to the cops without mentioning Kenshin once. I am most impressed."

Kenshin sighed. He wasn't gloating or gleeful about this. "He was a crook and he hurt Heather. And he shot me, and that would have been murder if I were not Immortal. When he reached for a gun again, I broke his hand with my sakabatou. He will not shoot a gun with any accuracy for a very long time."

"You should have cut his hand _off_." Soujiro suggested.

"He could have then died of the blood loss." Kenshin shook his head. "I will not kill."

_Just, apparently, maim._ Still, it sounded like the guy had it coming. MacLeod couldn't entirely say he disapproved, especially since the man had effectively gotten away with attempted murder when he'd shot Kenshin -- and a man who killed once would do so again.

That thought made him look at Kenshin with a frown. _Ah, perhaps with a few exceptions. But the crimes Kenshin committed were during a war. He was a soldier fighting for his side -- call him samurai or not, it amounts to the same thing. That's different than murder for personal reasons. And he was fighting for a cause he believed in, even if he was disillusioned later. That's a mark in his favor in my book._

Kenshin met his frown with a puzzled look. MacLeod raised an eyebrow at him and glanced at Soujiro, hoping that Kenshin would give him some sort of clue about how to handle the other Immortal. Kenshin shrugged, almost imperceptibly. He wasn't sure either, then.

Atsuko finally said something in English, proving she could, in fact, speak the language -- though her accent was distinctly odd and not entirely Japanese. Australian, maybe? Hard to tell. "So Soujiro-san, do you live around here?"

He gave her a surprised look, apparently not expecting small talk. Atsuko grinned at him again. She added, "I'd just like to know in case you and Kenshin get in a fight. The last time he did, both he _and_ the other Immortal expired, and I ended up taking both of them home because the cops had been called." She added, with some apparent aggravation, "I still have blood stains in my car."

"You should have said something to me. Hydrogen peroxide," Kenshin suggested, "Will take them out."

"You would know that." Atsuko's laugh that was blackly amused.

"This one has done lots of laundry, he has." Kenshin agreed, with a smile. MacLeod had _no_ idea what that was about except, apparently, that it was a shared joke between Kenshin and Atsuko.

"As for where I live -- San Francisco, at the moment." Soujiro said, "I settled there around 1890."

"Well, that explains why our paths haven't crossed," Kenshin said.

"Yes." Soujiro agreed.

Atsuko said, "I was there after the Northridge earthquake -- I'm a photojournalist by profession. On hiatus, right now -- I just got back from covering the war in Iraq and they're giving me some down time. (1) San Francisco's a beautiful city. Has it recovered well?"

Soujiro's smile was genuine, this time. "Yes, it has. You should see it now."

Kenshin's smile was perhaps a bit forced when he said, "Perhaps we shall come to visit you, after you go home. I'm sure you could be a very good tour guide of the city, you could."

MacLeod realized at last what _Kenshin_ was playing at. What had Connor said? _There's a few evil immortals who joined the priesthood because of the runt, _or something to that effect. He was trying to _befriend_ Soujiro. MacLeod had a whole new set of misgivings over that tactic.

Soujiro glanced at MacLeod, then abruptly stood up. "We shall talk later, MacLeod." He nodded at Kenshin, and said, "Enjoy your meal, Kenshin."

"You didn't mention your enemy was so handsome, Kenshin," Atsuko said, elbowing him, after Soujiro had left. "

Very quietly, and with no trace of humor whatsoever, MacLeod said, "He threatened my friends."

Kenshin glanced over his shoulder in the direction that Soujiro had gone. Then, soberly, he turned back to MacLeod. "He was an assassin in my time, Mister -- ah, Mac-san. I would watch them closely. I will also keep an eye on them for you.

He paused, then added, "He was an assassin at about twelve years of age -- I'm not entirely sure how old, precisely, but very young. I'm sure you've encountered boys who've had similar stories because every war seems to have some. Children who give up their childhoods to become men too soon and can never go back to what they were ... He was ... damaged ... even before, I think, which didn't help."

_Aye. I know the type. Including, _MacLeod thought, _The grown up boy sitting in front of me right now._ MacLeod had dug up some historic references to Kenshin -- or _Hitokiri Battousai_ has he had been known. Kenshin had been thirteen when he'd gone to war, it seemed. Too young. The books had contained some biographical information; it seemed Kenshin's parents had died of cholera, and he'd been orphaned as a small boy. In Japan, during that time period, that had to have been terribly hard. Not much was known about his master Hiko; obviously, he'd learned sword fighting from someone very, very good. You didn't learn to fight like that without being taught by the best from the beginning, and from a very young age.

He'd mentioned a hard master to Tessa. Tessa had told Mac and said she felt sorry for him; MacLeod wasn't entirely sure that was the appropriate response. That hard master had likely taught Kenshin the skills needed to survive in a world where people twice his size were out for his head. Harsh, yes, but necessary. He wondered what Kenshin would say, if he asked Kenshin of his opinion of Hiko.

_Amazing how well he turned out, really. He could have been a monster instead of, apparently, a hero._

MacLeod was willing to bet that Kenshin's parents had been loving people, to produce a son with such a profound respect for live and such a notable tendency to form lasting and close friendships. A hard life later would not erase those early influences.

The faint buzz, almost undetectable, of a pre-Immortal warned MacLeod that Richie was coming. Richie, followed by Tessa, entered, walked over, sat down. "Whew. You guys are going to work me to death."

"Richie-san would rather be lazy, would he not?" Kenshin teased. Before Richie could reply with a sharp retort, Kenshin introduced his friend, "Richie, Tessa-dono, this is Atsuko-chan, Heather's aunt."

"Hii," Richie held his hand out across the table for Atsuko to shake, while Tessa simply gave the woman a measuring look. "I'm Richie Ryan."

He tilted his head sideways, studying her for a second, then said, "Heather sure has some young aunts and uncles."

Richie glanced significantly at MacLeod, raised an eyebrow. Mac shook his head. _Not an immortal, Richie. Also, older than you think. _There was no way to convey that latter information to Richie without being rude to Atsuko, however.

Dryly, Atsuko said, "Now you're a charming young man. And handsome."

Kenshin coughed and gave Atsuko an alarmed look.

In Japanese, and with a glance at MacLeod, she said, "Oh, relax, Kenshin. He's too young, I know. I might be back in four or five years, though the best ones are usually taken by then ..." Atsuko gave Richie a teasing smile. Richie, who certainly had no idea what she had said, but who saw the look she gave him, promptly blushed clear up to his hairline and -- when a server appeared with a menu -- opened it up and pretended to be fascinated by the meal choices.

MacLeod grinned. Kenshin sighed. "Woman, you are incorrigible."

"And you love me that way." Still in Japanese. She switched back to English, "So Tessa, I understand you and MacLeod run an antique store?"

"Yes," Tessa said, "It's something of a labor of love ..."

"Cameras ..." said Kenshin, just as Atsuko said, "Do you have any old cameras?"

Kenshin snickered, Atsuko swatted him with her menu, then sighed, and said, "I am predictable, I suppose."

----------------

When MacLeod returned to his car, sometime late that evening, he found a note stuck under the windshield wiper. It simply said, in neat printing, "Warehouse at Seventh and Elm, in two weeks, at midnight."

The others were trailing behind him -- Atsuko had said something to make Richie and Kenshin both howl in outrage, and Tessa giggle hysterically. Richie spluttered, "Women!" and Kenshin said, "Maa, maa!!" and Atusko said, "_Gomen, gomen, gomen, _Kenshin! But you know it's true!"

They were not paying attention to MacLeod. He pocketed the note, and looked grimly at his friends, knowing the dark night would hide his expression.

Tessa, the love of his life. Richie, who he'd come to care for as a son. He couldn't risk them. He would accept the Challenge.

-----------------

(1) First Iraq war.


	11. Chapter 11

-1Chapter 11

--------------

Janey -- re: pace -- this is actually my normal writing pace, and most of this story was written on lunches and during my commute. Essentially, I get an idea in my head and I have to complete it before I get my brain back. This means I work very fast, because I'm seriously useless until it's done. (The advantage to this is that I do tend to complete what I start.))

At least this is a relatively short fanfic and not a 200+K wordcount novel ...

And re: the "They're so cute," comment and Atsuko not blushing -- she probably didn't care one way or another if they knew what she said, and given that Soujiro has a Japanese name, she would have been at least suspicious that he might understand her. Atsuko doesn't really worry very much about what people think of her.

A note -- this chapter's a bit of an infodump, so I may revise it later. I've written several versions of it and I'm at the 'just post the damn thing' point.

-------------

Kenshin sat, back resting against the wall, on the apartment's very small balcony. In the distance, under the light of a nearly full moon and through the wrought iron rails , he could see the horizon. Below the horizon, the lights of ships on the ocean glowed. The apartment was only a few blocks from the waterfront, and it was a third-floor walkup with a clear view of the sea.

It was still a cheap apartment, mostly because this neighborhood was inarguably bad. Despite the fact that it was three AM, he could hear someone arguing in the parking lot, and the police had been called to the building next door the day before, for some crime that had involved an ambulance after the fact. He listened with half an ear to the argument, hand resting on his sword, but he didn't think he'd need to go to the rescue of anyone and he'd rather not single himself out as _that crazy red-haired guy_ if he could avoid it.

The rough neighborhood wasn't much of a threat to him, all things considered, and Atsuko had lived through a lot worse. -- he had a large amount of respect for Atsuko's ability to take care of herself. Sanosuke would be _most_ proud of this particular descendent.

He sighed. He was unable to sleep; several problems -- Heather, Soujiro at the forefront-- gnawed at him, and several not-problems worthy mulling over battled with the real problems for time in his head. The not-problems included, _Is Richie really ...? _and _Everything Atsuko!_ followed by _I need to train with someone good enough to test my own skills; is it irresponsible to do so with MacLeod knowing he's a killer at the heart?_

He sighed and chose to think of Atsuko, largely because there wasn't a thing he could do about Heather or Soujiro at this hour, and he'd already decided he'd spar with MacLeod.

Atsuko ... rough neighborhood ... he let his mind drift back to his thoughts of threats to her.

He'd trained her in hand to hand combat, something which would have surprised Yahiko to no end. He hadn't taught her swordplay, of course -- except a bit of kendo, mostly to teach her how to swing any stick she got in her hands during a brawl for maximum effect. (She'd mentioned, to his amusement, that kendo worked best when one substituted a _crow-bar _for the shinai!) Mostly, however, he'd taught her hand to hand fighting -- a mixture of styles, nothing formal, and including every dirty trick he knew.

She was rather good.

And the apartment was, as he'd said, conveniently located. He would worry about her -- she wasn't bullet proof -- but truthfully, his finances were going to be stretched by supporting Heather's bills and two separate apartments. (Heather's would be two doors down. Atsuko had wanted her to stay with _them_; he was still certain that would be a disaster -- Heather and Atsuko would end up killing one another, if nothing else. More likely, if Heather felt too pressured, she'd move out, and Kenshin figured it was better to have her living somewhere reasonably safe than on the streets.)

He glanced, briefly, in the direction of her bedroom. Atsuko was snoring -- he could hear her through two doors. She'd crashed as soon as they got home after dinner; the snoring had begun almost seconds after she'd shut her bedroom door. He hoped she'd removed her shoes, considered checking, mentally counted the number of cocktails she'd drank with dinner and came up sufficient alcohol in her system to move her from 'joking proposition' to 'serious proposal' should she wake to find him in her room. He decided it wouldn't hurt her to sleep with her shoes on.

Teasing aside, he was glad she was here. Of all of his "family" Atsuko was one of the few he really and truly enjoyed spending large amounts of time with -- she was someone he genuinely considered a _good_ friend in addition to a responsibility. He had lots of friends, and plenty of people who considered him family, but of them very few fell into the category of people he could let his guard down around.

He'd first gotten to know Atsuko as an adult rather than a cute (and brilliant) child -- oh, perhaps twenty years ago. He'd met her as a child, of course. But he hadn't really _known _her as anything other than a pixie-ish face among the dozens of family kids. He'd admired her artwork a few times, and as he recalled, had sent her an SLRn camera when her grandmother had mentioned she had true talent. But he hadn't really _known_ her.

It had been the tail end of a war in the early 1970's when she'd first really come to his attention -- the exact war didn't matter, because really, they were all alike when you got right down to it. She'd had her first real assignment as photojournalist and war correspondent after graduating college. Predictably, she'd been captured by "the other side" and he'd gone to the rescue. In what would become something of a pattern later, she'd ended up saving _him _when he'd taken a bullet in the back _-- _she'd done so despite being bayoneted in the leg. However, because she didn't have the foggiest clue how to fight, she'd had only one option in a battle with the bad guys -- and that was to use a shotgun taken from a fallen soldier and shoot back. She'd killed three people including one boy no older than fourteen.

In that particular war, enemy combatants were often beheaded. She _had_ saved his life, truly.

She had killed to save him, however, and he would forever see this as a personal failure. One more black mark on his soul -- he should have been able to get her out _without _anyone else getting killed, and especially without her being the one to do it, and to save his lowly self.

He had kept his distance from her on the journey back to Tokyo. He hadn't _wanted_ to know her. The deaths of those soldiers, that _boy_, had filled his thoughts, had left him sleepless and tormented and terribly saddened. He'd not done enough.

The day she was released from the hospital she had shown up on his doorstep, drawn and pale and on crutches. She'd shoved right past his emotional resistance, refused to let him push her away, and had demanded his help on a variety of levels. Atsuko was like that -- heaven forbid someone tell her 'no' because she'd take it as a personal challenge! That trait made her a good journalist and, sometimes, a truly vexing friend.

When she had realized just how badly he was affected by the events of that terrible week, she'd firmly and stubbornly inserted herself into his life until he was. if not better, at least not hurting so much. She'd hauled him out in public: to meals, to parties, to clubs, to coffee shops, to concerts. She'd introduced him to her friends, and he'd been adopted by a cadre of twenty-something women who had _no_ idea he was a century and plus their senior.

She'd woken him up every morning, refusing to let him sleep the clock 'round; conversely, on the nights when he _couldn't_ sleep for the nightmares, she'd listened to his thoughts and shared her own darkness. She'd had just as many nightmares as he did, and no experience dealing with them. He hadn't realized until much later that booting him out of his funk had been very good for her, too.

And, sometime during those long months, he'd started talking. For the first time in half a very long lifetime, he'd had someone in his life whoreally and truly _listened_, and who saw him as a person, not a revered elder or a mystic or simply something other than human.

For his part, he had expected that she would never again want to see a war zone. Instead, she'd proclaimed that she _would_ go back. She _would_ make a difference with her cameras and her stories and her courage. She would _not_ stand idly by while terrible things happened in the world. She was going whether he liked it or not, she'd told him, and he had no say in the matter. And she'd asked -- no, demanded -- that he teach her to defend herself.

And how could he say no? He'd recognized something akin to his own warrior's spirit in her stubborn determination. And, also, he'd recognized a kindred soul in her deep desire to change the world, to _make a difference_. He did it with the dull side of a blade and his wits; she wanted to do the same with her words and her camera.

_Her way's probably the more effective one, too_, he thought, ruefully and not for the first time. _At least on a large scale. _

And so he'd taught her to fight. Not to kill -- and he'd passed on none of his swordsmanship, because Hiten Mitsurugi-Ryu would die with him. But he'd taught her to defend herself, effectively and efficiently. Being able to fight hand to hand had both saved her neck a few times, and likely prevented her from needing to use _lethal_ force -- though she did now carry a handgun of her own when covering wars and, sometimes, disaster zones.

And maybe he'd _saved_ a few lives by teaching her to fight. And -- yes, he understood _why_ she kept going back, over and over again, to wars, to disasters, to riots, to famines, to terrible places where she saw things no gently raised woman ever should. And she brought back photos of those ungodly things and showed the world, so that the truth would come out and other people would be inspired to make a difference.

And because she'd seen the worst of humanity, first hand, she _understood_. He could let his guard down around her -- he could be himself, rather than the ancient, legendary family protector.

He sighed, for about the thousandth time that night. Then, he realized he was not alone moments later, when a cool wind swirled around him. The wind settled down on the balcony beside him, radiating cold and quiet energy.

"Hello, Kaoru," he said, quietly. "I've missed you."

Something that might have been a hand brushed his cheek. He closed his eyes, feeling her presence -- she'd doubtless sensed his unhappiness this night, had come to pay a visit.

"When are you going to come back to me? I'll wait. I'll _always_ wait."

Kaoru settled against his shoulder, more impression than weight. She was there, he _knew_ she was there, curled up next to him, lending silent support.

"Thank you," he murmured, knowing the answer to _when will you come back_ was, _Not in this lifetime, Kenshin, and you've got a lot of living left to do._

It hurt.

But she was here, for the moment, and finally, he leaned his head back against the wall and slept.

-----------

Atsuko woke to at dawn to the sound of seagulls. She yawned, realized the apartment was quite cold, and, with her blanket wrapped around her shoulders, she padded barefoot and in her pajamas into the kitchen. She started coffee -- enough for both herself and Kenshin.

Only after she was halfway through her first cup did she realize he was sitting out on the west-facing balcony.

She sighed, watching him. He was leaning against the wall, sleeping sitting up. He only did that when he was very troubled. And it was _cold_ out there.

She padded to the door and opened it -- it creaked, but he didn't wake. So he was _deeply_ asleep. He also looked cold, as she'd suspected -- goose bumps had risen on his arms, and that scar on his cheek was standing out in stark contrast against pale skin.

"Kenshin." She touched his shoulder.

"Oro?" He opened his lavender eyes and blinked sleepily at her. She realized only belatedly that there were tear tracks down his cheeks. He'd been crying in his sleep, something she thought only a few people knew he did.

"Were you dreaming of her?" She offered him a hand up.

He accepted, clambered somewhat stiffly to his feet, and rubbed at his sleep-sticky eyes with the back of his hand. "Aaa."

Quiet confirmation. He started shivering, and she wordlessly handed him the blanket. "There's coffee."

"Coffee is good. Thank you." He said, then disappeared into his bedroom with the blanket around his shoulders. Fifteen minutes later, he reappeared wearing his usual jeans-and-t-shirt, sword strapped diagonally across his back, duster over his shoulder, and a gym bag in one hand. His hair was wet -- he'd showered quickly. He looked much more awake and the darkness had disappeared from his eyes, at least for the moment.

He poured himself coffee, then sat down on the couch and raked a comb through his hair briefly before tying it back with a bit of leather string. When he realized she was watching him, he said, quietly, "Is something bothering you?"

"Something's bothering _you_," she replied.

"Aa."

"Are you going to stew on it or are you going to talk?"

"I'm going to go spar with MacLeod, if he's free today," he said, quietly.

Her eyebrows rose. "You never spar with anyone." She realized that announcement was an answer enough to what was bothering him. If she had to guess, she thought he was thinking he might have to challenge Soujiro. And he would be worrying about his own abilities -- he was damn good, but not invincible.

Damn. Given the fact he'd lost weight since she'd seen him last, and given that he obviously hadn't been working out like he should, he was right to worry. Immortality did not automatically confer physical fitness -- and Kenshin, at five foot even and less than a hundred pounds needed to work_hard _to stay in shape. Many of the moves he did with a sword were meant for men a foot taller and twice his weight.

He gave her a silent look over his coffee that said he wasn't going to elaborate on that statement. "Are you going to go by the hospital today?"

"Yeah." She sighed, not looking forward to that visit. "Heather's going to be so thrilled I'm here."

"Be careful, Atsuko-chan," he said.

"Always am."

He drained the last of his coffee, poured another cup, didn't say another word. She watched him for a minute longer, then padded off to her own shower. Kenshin was clearly not in a talkative mood.

---------------

The ringing of steel against steel drew Richie to the warehouse door. He peered inside, cautiously, hoping to avoid being seen -- he wasn't sure if the two men wanted to be observed or not. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw them.

Both MacLeod and Kenshin had stripped down to jeans; Kenshin's t-shirt hung from his belt. Mac's was nowhere in sight. Both were covered with sweat, and in Kenshin's case, blood from his nose.

_Is this a serious fight?_ Richie thought, in shock, as they circled one another. Mac was bleeding too -- a cut on his hand stained the hilt of his katana crimson, and when Mac and Kenshin rotated around each other so that Mac's back was to Richie, he realized Mac had a perfect sword-shaped bruise from shoulder blade to hip.

_God! They're trying to kill each other! _Richie realized, _I thought -- did Kenshin Challenge Mac? I thought he was one of the good guys!_

Kenshin crouched, hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword. Mac mimicked the pose. They lunged together, swords flashing through the air. Neither scored, but ...

_Kenshin's faster than Mac. Lots faster. Mac blocked, but barely._

He could barely see Kenshin move; the guy was so fast it was unreal.

The two locked swords and shoved at each other for a moment, muscles cording, grunting with effort. Kenshin lost ground to Mac; his eyes blazed from under a tangled, sweaty fall of bangs. Then, suddenly, Mac stepped back -- he'd apparently given Kenshin no warning, because Kenshin stumbled a hair forward. This put him off balance, and Mac was waiting. MacLeod shouldered him sideways, made him stumble, and then swatted him with the flat of the sword, hard, on the arm. The blow spun Kenshin around, and MacLeod followed it with a swift kick to Kenshin's back. Kenshin staggered farther off balance. MacLeod swung his sword in a whistling arc -- and stopped it an inch from Kenshin's neck.

Kenshin's eyes were very, very large.

Mac stepped back, grinned, and said, "_Gotcha_."

He offered Kenshin a hand up. Kenshin wiped his nose, studied the blood. "Oro! I didn't think you could take me, Mister MacLeod, this I did not."

_Not a deathmatch after all, _Richie realized. He exhaled a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. _It's practice. Serious training. I've never seen MacLeod fight like that before when he's not trying to kill someone. He looked like he was playing when Connor was here._

"You owe me that beer," Mac said, sounding amused at Kenshin's surprise. Apparently, they'd had a bet. Mac paused, then added, "And if you call me 'Mister' again it's going to be two beers."

"I owe you more than that, Mac." Kenshin shook his head in apparent disbelief. "I should have turned that stumble into a somersault to get clear of you."

"Yeah." Mac agreed. "Go another round?"

Kenshin wiped his nose with the back of his hand, studied the blood on his hand, and then nodded slowly. Richie thought the guy looked rather chastened, and he was looking at Mac with a whole new light of respect in his brilliant violet eyes.

They lit into each other again, swords ringing together. When they sprang apart after several seconds, MacLeod was limping from a blow that Richie hadn't even seen Kenshin land. Kenshin spat blood; Richie _had_ seen MacLeod elbow the smaller man in the mouth.

"Mac's good," a surprised voice said, next to Richie. He jumped.

Atsuko gave him a wry grin. "Sorry, Richie. Didn't mean to startle you."

"Ah, it's okay," he said, a little nervously. She was pretty -- in a no-makeup tough-as-nails sense, and she _teased_. "You surprised me, is all. And MacLeod is _damn_ good."

Atsuko watched the men in silence, for a moment. She said quietly, "Something's bothering Kenshin. He's distracted. He shouldn't be having this much trouble with MacLeod."

"MacLeod's good!" Richie protested.

Atsuko shook her head, making her bobbed hair bounce. She insisted, "Something's bugging Kenshin."

MacLeod had managed to get past Kenshin's defenses to swat the smaller man on the thigh. Instantly, Kenshin reacted with lightning speed; he swung his sword hard and high over MacLeod's and nailed Mac in the side of the neck. Richie thought Kenshin's swing connected only milliseconds after MacLeod hit him in the leg.

MacLeod staggered backwards, clapping his hand over the bruised flesh. "Shit, Kenshin!"

"_Got you_, I did," Kenshin said, with satisfaction, then added, "_Gomen, _Mister MacLeod, that had to have hurt, it did."

"That's more like the Kenshin I know," Atsuko said, grinning at Richie. "He baited Mac into that, did you see? Mac took the opening Kenshin deliberately created, but in doing so, he couldn't block Kenshin's blow. Kenshin deliberately let Mac hit him."

She paused, considering, then added, "I've never seen him _spar_ with anyone before, at least not with a sword. Only in actual fights."

"In a real fight, Mac would have laid his leg open to the bone," Richie pointed.

"Yeah. But MacLeod would be dead." Atsuko shrugged. "Immortals play by different rules than we do, Mac. Short of death, they heal without a scar."

"Are you okay, Mac-san?" Kenshin asked, with some concern.

MacLeod was gingerly probing his jaw; he spat blood before answering. "I'll survive."

Kenshin glanced at Atsuko, then said, "I think Atsuko-chan has something to tell me. We should continue this another day."

"Yeah," Atsuko said, then wrinkled her nose as the two very sweaty men approached. "After you shower. You've got guy stink and your nose blood is really gross." She tilted her head, regarded them for a moment, then added, "Though I _like_ the shirtless look, Kenshin."

Kenshin glanced down, turned as red as his hair, and then protested loudly, "_Atsuko-chan!" _

While he was still spluttering, Atsuko said to Richie, in a sly voice, "You know, if you tease him enough, his _neck_ turns pink."

------------


	12. Chapter 12

-1Chapter 12

-----------------------

Author's Note: I've been watching Highlander DVDs and I've realized this is actually set early season 2. I had not seen the show in so long that I'd forgotten what happened when -- I'd thought Tessa's death was the season finale. For reference, this is now officially set just before the episode "The Darkness."

Also, he knew Joe Dawson by this point, but it was before they were really friends.

------------------------

Kenshin waited until they were in his truck before asking Atsuko why she'd come to MacLeod's so early in the day. Then he simply said, "It's Heather-san, is it not?"

Atsuko sighed. "They discharged her today." By her voice tone, Atsuko didn't think this was a good thing. Kenshin expected, given Atsuko and Heather's tendency to butt heads, they had fought.

"Where is she?"

"At the apartment. I hope. I told her to stay put." Atsuko frowned. "She's a mess."

"Aa." Kenshin sighed and guided the truck out into traffic. Atsuko cranked her window down and propped an elbow on the door, stared out at the city, offered nothing more.

He figured that she didn't need to say much more; past experience let him fill in the blanks. Atsuko had been sarcastic and critical. The same candor he valued from her tended to piss Heather off greatly. Heather would have been sullen, defensive and resentful in response. He hoped Heather was still _there_ when he got home.

"Kenshin, is MacLeod going to fight Soujiro?" Atsuko changed the subject.

"MacLeod can't defeat Souji unless he is very lucky," Kenshin said. He didn't add that he suspected MacLeod had already been challenged by Soujiro -- MacLeod hadn't said anything, but he'd asked Kenshin several pointed questions about Soujiro's fighting style. Questions, in truth, which Kenshin couldn't answer except to say that he expected Soujiro would be very good. It had been over a century since he'd last seen the man fight. MacLeod was good, but perhaps not _that_ good.

"That didn't answer my question."

"I don't know." Kenshin responded, simply.

"'_I don't know_' means yes." Atsuko was entirely too astute. _Journalist_, he reminded himself. Good at guessing was a job requirement.

"No. '_I don't know_' means ..." He hesitated, gave her a sideways look, and sighed before continuing, "MacLeod has a wife and son." _Or close enough. Tessa and Mac are about as dedicated to each other as any couple I've ever seen, and Richie would have _nothing _if not for Mac. No family, no close friends other than Mac and Tessa that I've seen. _

"You have us." Atsuko gave him a sharp look. "We _need_ you. I hope you're not thinking of fighting a duel you can't win out of some kind of warped sense of honor."

He gave her a wry look. "I'm not intending to commit suicide, Atsuko-chan. But if it comes down to it, the families would grieve for me -- but not like Tessa and Richie would grieve for Mac."

Atsuko was silent for too long before responding, "You don't kill. Mac does. That gives Mac an advantage."

"Are you trying to talk me out of fighting Soujiro, or encourage me?" He teased, gently. He hated that silence; it bothered him to see her this worried. "I'd prefer that nobody die. But Atsuko-chan -- know that I do not fear death. Kaoru is waiting for me."

"I'm saying that MacLeod has an advantage." She repeated, to quickly. She had _no_ humor in her voice and obviously didn't think it was funny at all. And his reassurance had done nothing to ease her mind.

When he reached a stoplight, he looked at her -- met her eyes, which were just as concerned as he'd expected. She said, bluntly, "It would kill me to lose you, Red."

"Atsuko-chan, I ..." He had no answer for that. She'd called him _Red _for the short period they'd dated; had quit when he'd told her only wanted to be friends. For her to call him that again meant she was probably a lot more upset than he'd guessed. "I am sorry for worrying you."

"But?" She asked, hearing the lack of denial in his voice. _She doesn't miss _anything_ at all._

"But this is something I may have to do. Atsuko -- 120 years ago I let Soujiro walk away, thinking I'd done a fine thing. He's killed perhaps hundreds of men between then and now. He's _powerful_, Atsuko-chan, and you don't get that powerful without a lot of murder if you're an Immortal, that you don't."

He looked away, not able to meet her eyes. Guilt swarmed up and threatened to drown him. _She will grieve for me. I do not want to hurt her. _

"He was a _child_, Ken-san. He was fourteen years old, right?"

He blinked at her. _How did -- ah, journalist. I should assume she was going through old records hours after I told her his name. Birth certificates, police reports, old newspapers, old diaries. She already knows where to find most of the stuff from my Meiji day; cross-referencing Seta with me would have been easy. She probably knows more biographical data about Souji than I do now._

"That's about right. It's not like I asked him his birthday," Kenshin replied. "We only actually met a few times. And we were never on speaking terms."

"_You _could not have slain a child." She said that with absolute conviction. He flinched mentally at her tone of voice. _She_ had slain a boy about the same age -- faced with a me-or-him decision, she'd chosen to pull the trigger and live. Most people would, Kenshin thought.

"Hundreds have died, that they have." He swallowed hard, avoiding her eyes still. "I killed boys younger than Soujiro, as the _Battousai_. I _was_ younger, when I left Hiko and went to war."

"You're thinking of fighting him to the death, aren't you? Taking his head?"

Kenshin couldn't answer that question -- not even to himself. Instead, he said, quietly, "Would you have another suggestion?"

He hadn't meant to sound quite so bleak. She was silent again. The silence stretched on until, finally, he said, "I don't know what I'm going to do, Atsuko-chan. Just that I must do something, that I must."

------------

Heather was home when they arrived. So was another skinny girl with old needle tracks on her arms and a nose that had been broken at least once. Stringy blond hair -- natural blond -- hung down to the girl's shoulders. It was the sort of long hair that resulted from a neglectful lack of haircuts, not a deliberate attempt at growing it out.

"Hi Uncle Kenshin!" Heather stood up. Both girls had been watching television. She grinned at him. "They let me out!"

"Atsuko said she brought you home," Kenshin accepted her hug. She'd showered, actually smelled like soap and not body odor, and she appeared to be in a good mood. His spirits lifted abruptly. Maybe she'd just needed time to get the drugs out of her system. "Who's your friend?"

The blond was looking at him rather keenly. "Anna." Heather said. "Anna, this is my Uncle Kenshin."

"You didn't say your uncle was so _young_."

"He's adopted," Heather said, shrugging.

"No duh!"

"I still can't believe you came all this way to help me out," Heather said, quietly. She glanced past Kenshin at Atsuko, who had a tight-lipped frown on her face. "_She_ came out here because you're here."

It was a deliberate -- and unnecessary -- comment. . He sighed. "Was that really required, Heather?"

"It's also not true," Atsuko said, surprisingly mildly. Kenshin had been expecting _some_ sort of snark out of her in response to that. She met Kenshin's eyes, and added, "While Kenshin is _certainly_ worth traveling halfway around the world for, I actually do care about you, Akane-chan."

"My name's not Akane. It's _Heather_."

Kenshin smiled faintly at that indignant response. "Anna, perhaps you will join us for dinner?"

Anna wrinkled her nose. "You're not going to serve raw fish or something, are you?"

"We can order pizza," Kenshin said, dryly. He exchanged another look with Atsuko. She rolled her eyes. He felt like doing the same, but good manners dictated he be polite to this unexpected guest. Atsuko had never really concerned herself with anything resembling manners, though she could be charming when it suited her purposes.

"I'm not really hungry anyway. Me'n Heather were going to go catch a movie." Anna picked up her purse from beside the couch.

"What movie?" Atsuko demanded, then added, "Maybe you should stay home, Heather -- you just got out ..."

"Batman Returns. And I'm going." Heather's tone of voice dared Atsuko to argue.

"How are you going to pay for this movie?" Atsuko asked, sharply.

Kenshin pulled his wallet out, fished out three five dollar bills, and held them up. When Heather reached for them he closed his hand around the bills, stopping her from taking them. "You have to make me a promise, that you do."

"Whatever." She balled her fists at her side.

"Heather-chan, please. I care about you. I want you to promise me you'll be back by ten PM. Sober, if you please." He said, patiently.

"I'm too old for a curfew!" She folded her arms and glared at him. Defiance showed in every line of her too-thin frame.

He regarded her levelly, eyes glinting keenly from beneath his bangs. He didn't say a word. Didn't, he figured, need to -- she was not a stupid woman, but she had a certain defiant streak that had been inadvertently cultivated by her father's tendency to criticize and yell -- and, truthfully, her mother's _unwillingness_ to fight. One screamed, the other let her get away with everything and anything.

"Ken-san ..." There was a distinct whine in her voice. A little of the resistance drained out of her shoulders. She shuffled in place, eyed him, tried to find something to protest about. He waited, silently praying Atsuko would keep her mouth shut. He could almost _feel_ Atsuko vibrating with the desire to say something sharp and cutting.

Heather sighed, angrily, lips pursing. "Okay. I'll be back at ten. I _promise_."

"_Sober_, Heather-chan."

"Yes, Uncle Kenshin." She stared at her shoes.

He turned his violet eyes on Anna and fixed her with a glare that held just a hint of amber. She took a step back, and said with some concern, "Did you really cut Shark's hand off?"

_So her friends have been talking_. _I think that's all to the best_.

"No. I simply broke his fingers because he tried to pull a gun on me." His expression was dangerous.

"With a sword." Anna glanced at the door. Clearly, she was suddenly unsettled by him. He knew he hadn't looked like much of a threat until he let the _Battousai_ peek out at her.

"Yes." Kenshin let the single syllable float in the air like a promise.

Anna swallowed hard and said in a voice that cracked a bit, "I've been clean for three weeks. OD'd. Figured I'd had enough. I'm trying to make a better life for myself. I'll see she stays out of trouble 'cause I'm not sure I could resist if she got high."

"That is good, it is." He blinked, relaxed, and so did she.

She frowned at him as if wondering _why_ he was suddenly a scary bastard she didn't want to cross instead of a five-foot-tall weakling. She glanced at Heather. Said firmly, "We're just going to a movie. That's it."

"Aa. Have fun, then." He handed the money to Heather. "Remember you've an appointment at the clinic tomorrow morning at eight AM."

"_Yes_, Uncle Kenshin."

-------------------

Kenshin liked the balcony. It had an excellent view, and nobody could sneak up on him since it was on the fourth floor. It was a good place to think.

The door slid open and Atsuko stepped out. She had a blanket in her hands. "If you're going to sleep out here ..."

"Thank you," he said, quietly, wrapping the thick fabric around his shoulders. He didn't intend to sleep, but the air was cool and the blanket warm.

"She's not back yet." Atsuko worried.

"It's only 9:30."

"Are you sure this is wise?"

"No." Kenshin admitted. "I need to know if I can trust her at all, if she'll even _try_ to keep her word. It will affect how I handle her in the future."

"What if she goes and gets high and overdoses?" Atsuko shook her head in disbelief. "I don't like that Anna girl."

"Anna's parents may say the same thing about Heather, that they may." Kenshin said, with calm he didn't feel. Though his own judgment said that Anna might actually be a _good_ influence on Heather, at least for the moment, he somehow had a bad feeling.

"I wish you'd gone after her." Atsuko sighed.

"Do you know how difficult it is to tail someone when they know what you look like?" Kenshin gave her a dark look. "I'm _not _ a ninja. If she'd seen me following her, I'd lose any trust she has in me, that I would."

"If she wants to be trusted she needs to earn it," Atsuko said, with considerable annoyance.

Atsuko started to sit down next to him, but suddenly he sprang to his feet. The buzz of another Immortal had washed over him like a wave. _Powerful. Close. _

"Trouble?" Atsuko said, as Kenshin brushed past her into the apartment.

"Perhaps. It's MacLeod or Soujiro." _Or somebody else just as powerful. Now that is a complication I do not need. _He grabbed his sword and sheath from the rack by just inside his bedroom door, slung it over his back, and shrugged into his coat. "Are you coming with me?"

He'd tried, once, to forbid Atsuko from tagging along after him in instances like this. He'd learned the hard way that it was better to have her openly accompanying him. That way, at least he knew where she was. Anyway, she could fight.

Outside, the buzz was stronger. _Soujiro_, he decided. _If MacLeod wanted to talk, he'd have either called my cel phone or he'd be walking up to my apartment and we'd have met him in the hall or stairwell. Soujiro likely saw my truck and is lurking in the shadows._

"Kenshin!" The voice was unexpected as they stepped out of the stairwell. Not Immortal, but rather, Anna. She hurried across the apartment building's parking lot. There was alarm in the way she moved and in her voice. "Kenshin!"

"What's wrong?" Kenshin said, breaking into a run and meeting her halfway. She was breathing hard and sweat stuck her bangs to her forehead.

"Heather ..." She gasped, bending over, hands on her knees, sides heaving. She'd clearly run a long way.

"I knew it!" Atsuko's voice angry. "Kenshin, I _knew _it!"

"What happened?" Kenshin demanded.

"Shark ... Shark's brother and his buddies ... they grabbed Heather ..."

"He had a _brother_?" Kenshin said, voice nearly a hiss of disbelief. That was a complication he hadn't considered. Shark wasn't much of a threat, but he could easily see a ticked off sibling being real trouble.

"Yeah. He's a b-bad news and he's _pissed_ about what you did to Shark." She looked up through her hair at him, tried to stand up, then sank to her knees. Concerned, Kenshin crouched.

"D-don't worry about me. Bowie's going to _kill_ her."

"Where?" Kenshin said. His eyes glinted dangerously.

"They were headed for the w-waterfront ... said something about throwing her off the p-pier. Probably the one off of Fifth Street; it's where they always dump the bodies ..."

"_Thank_ you." Kenshin ran for his truck with Atsuko hot on his heels. They screeched out of the parking lot; and Kenshin violated half a dozen traffic laws before they reached the next light. He was a half mile away before he remembered about the other Immortal. Ah, well, if Souji wanted to talk to him -- or challenge him -- Souji could find him later.

-----------

MacLeod was half asleep, idly running his fingers through Tessa's hair, when the doorbell rang. He glanced at the clock: ten PM.

"Mmph." Tessa said. It might have been protest. She lifted her head, "Who's that?"

It was a loaded question, but Mac shook his head and reassured her, "Not one of us."

He grabbed his pajama bottoms off the floor and padded barefoot through the shop to the door, just as the doorbell rang again. "Coming!"

Somehow, he was not surprised to see Dawson at the door. Joe leaned on his cane and got right to the point, "Hey, MacLeod. Richie's red-haired buddy -- is he one of you? I saw them together a few days ago."

MacLeod said, with disgust, "Why would I tell you?"

"Because," Joe limped past him into the shop, "He's in trouble. There's one bad Immortal after him. I thought I'd tell you; the little guy doesn't look like he can defend himself."

MacLeod scratched his cheek; his jaw was still sore from the blow that Kenshin had given him earlier in the day. "Kenshin would surprise you, I think. I pity anyone who tries to take his head."

"So he is ...?"

"Maybe I'm not inclined to tell you." MacLeod said, swearing mentally. Joe would, correctly, assume that Kenshin _was_ Immortal. He'd give him a heads up about the Watchers tomorrow. He paused, then added, "Trouble?"

"Do you know about Soujiro Seta?"

_Oh._ So that was what this was about.

"We've met. Kenshin says he's bad news." MacLeod said, added, then after a moment's consideration, he added, "The red-haired guy is Kenshin Himura. And he's a friend and I'll have _your _head if anything happens to him because of the Watchers. He's one of the good guys, Joe.."

"Yeah. Well. If you want to keep your friend, you might warn him that Soujiro Seta's been watching his apartment." Joe didn't blink at the threat. "He was in a car in a parking garage across the road all day, then he drove over to Kenshin's apartment's parking lot this evening. Kenshin and his girlfriend took off in a real hurry a few moments later; I think he was fleeing the area."

"Soujiro's out for _my_ head. I'm not sure what he wants with Kenshin. Maybe the same; maybe something else. They've got some history." MacLeod shrugged. He paused, then added, "Kenshin wouldn't run from Soujiro. Something else must have happened. Soujiro seems to respect him."

"If Soujiro respects him, that's new, because he simply kills every other Immortal he comes across." Joe shook his head. "You should see his file, Mac. He's about a hundred and thirty one years old and he's averaged four or five heads a year for the last hundred and ten years. To our knowledge, he's never been beaten in a Challenge."

"Yeah, he's on my short list of heads to hunt," MacLeod said, dryly. "Connor said something similar when I called him yesterday afternoon. What do you know about him?"

"Soujiro's from Meiji Japan -- he was trained by a ronin named Shishio. He fights in several styles, but he's _very_ good at _battojutsu._ We've been watching him for years, and he's bad news -- absolutely no conscience when it comes to killing other Immortals. And Soujiro is extremely skilled and a natural athlete, Mac. I've seen a video -- we had to analyze it frame by frame to see some of his moves, he's that fast."

"That fits with what I've seen." MacLeod sighed. Then he added, with a bit of a grin, because he knew something Joe didn't, "By the way, he has been beaten."

"While he was still mortal, yes, once that I'm aware of." Joe went silent, suddenly. He regarded MacLeod with apparent dawning realization. "_Kenshin Himura?_"

MacLeod pointed a finger at him in a "_you got it_" gesture.

"Surely not!" Joe was silent a moment longer; MacLeod could practically hear the gears turning in Joe's head as he tried to remember what was, in truth, some relatively obscure history. However, the man was at least as much of a history geek as MacLeod himself, and they shared an interest in historic swordsmen. And Kenshin's rather distinctive appearance of red hair and a scarred cheek had certainly been well recorded and would have been doubly notable because there just weren't that many red-haired samurai in Japanese history. Finally, somewhat hesitantly, Joe said, "_Hitokiri Battousai_ was one of you?"

MacLeod shrugged and didn't say anything.

"Huh. Figures." Joe eyed him sideways for a minute, obviously skeptical.

MacLeod said, as much grace as he could muster, "Thank you for letting me know about Kenshin. I'll call him and find out if he needs any help."

"Not a problem. I figured you might want to know." Joe's smile was a bit sad and forced.

_His people killed Darius. He's trying to make up for it, in some small way,_ MacLeod realized, with a familiar twist of pain at the memory of Darius's death. _Not that he ever can. But he does care._

After Joe was gone, MacLeod called Kenshin. It wasn't Kenshin who answered, however, it was Atsuko. "Hello?"

"It's Mac. Atsuko, what's going on? A friend of mine seems to think you guys might be in trouble."

"Heather." One word, and a world of explanation. Her odd accent was notably stronger; she'd obviously learned English somewhere other than North America or Europe but she normally didn't sound quite so exotic. She added, "Apparently, Shark has family. They kidnapped her, probably for revenge."

Concerned, he said, "Need a hand?"

"We're fine, Mister MacLeod, that we are," That was Kenshin, who had apparently claimed the phone from Atsuko.

He heard several unidentifiable noises, and then Kenshin said something indignant in Japanese that he didn't quite catch followed by, "Oro! Atsuko-chan!"

"Mac, we're heading down to the waterfront. The Fifth Street pier." Atsuko said. MacLeod wasn't entirely sure how she'd gotten the phone back, but he could hear Kenshin muttering indignantly in the background. She added, "Kenshin's having a fit of machismo or something but if you want to meet us there, that'd be a good thing."

"Be there in ten minutes."

"Thanks, Mac-san."

As he hung up the phone, in the background, he heard Kenshin say, "_Soujiro's following us."_

Well, that explained why Kenshin didn't want his help. The little samurai had made it clear that he thought MacLeod should not fight Soujiro. He was worried about MacLeod's head. MacLeod thought, grimly, that made two of them worried about MacLeod's head. Joe's visit had _not_ been reassuring.

_Kenshin,_ MacLeod thought, _is getting my help whether he likes it or not. I'll deal with Soujiro when and if I have to._

He still hadn't decided if he was going to take Soujiro up on his challenge. But Joe's words -- three or four Immortals a year for over a century -- well, _someone_ needed to do it. _And I don't think it's going to be a certain red-haired samurai. As Kenshin would say, _that I do not.


	13. Chapter 13

-1Chapter 13

----------------------

When MacLeod reached the waterfront, the buzz of not one but two Immortals washed over him. Kenshin, and Soujiro, he assumed. He parked the Thunderbird; heard shouting when he shut the engine off. Steel rang against steel.

"Son of a bitch!" MacLeod drew his sword and ran towards the fight, though he knew he couldn't interfere if Soujiro and Kenshin were fighting. _After_, though -- Soujiro would be _his _if Kenshin lost.

Down on the beach, among the rocks, men were fighting under the light of the nearly full moon. _Not_ Soujiro -- the stronger Immortal was now behind him, as Mac ran towards the fight.

Kenshin was balanced lightly on the balls of his feet, fending off the attacks of several men swinging heavy lengths of logging chains. He had a solid piece of driftwood -- his sword glinted brightly under the moonlight, fifty feet away. Somehow, they'd managed to disarm him.

MacLeod ran closer, taking in the scene. He realized when he got closer that Kenshin was swinging the log with his _left_ hand -- his right hand hung uselessly at his side. He was injured, perhaps badly.

_Atsuko_, to Mac's surprise, had Kenshin's back. She had no weapons, but her fists were balled up and by her stance this was _not_ the first fight she'd been in. She didn't appear hurt at all, though_ mad_ was a good general description of the vibes rolling off her. She very obviously knew how to fight.

Three bad guys on Kenshin, one was on Atsuko, MacLeod noted. One on Atsuko was probably inadequate; they were underestimating her because she was female -- so these were not pros, likely, just random thugs.

The one fighting with Atsuko had a length of pipe -- he swung it in a whistling arc at Atsuko's head. Atsuko ducked under it, then drove her fist behind the arc of the man's swing. She had a wicked punch for a woman; the man's jaw went crunch and he went down and stayed down. She was efficient, hadn't even hesitated.

_Three on three. This isn't even going to be a challenge. _

Atsuko spun around, stepped up beside Kenshin, and saw MacLeod who was quietly approaching behind the three men with chains. Mac scooped up Kenshin's sword from the sand and tossed it quietly over the bad guys' heads. Kenshin dropped the driftwood, reached up, and caught the sword with his left hand in one smooth move.

All three thugs spun around to see where the sword had come from -- Kenshin didn't even hesitate, he sprang forward, and all MacLeod saw was a blur in the moonlight. The closest man to Kenshin went down with a grunt. The middle man turned back towards Kenshin at the noise, and MacLeod reversed his sword and hit him in the back of the head with the pommel. When MacLeod stepped back, it was to see the third thug swing at Atsuko with his short length of chain.

She _caught_ it, stepped swiftly back, yanked the man towards her, and landed a booted foot square in his crotch while he was off balance. He doubled over, and she kicked him in the head. The sound was a _thud. _He went down without a sound, limp. She shook her fingers, wincing, and sucked on her knuckles.

"You okay?" MacLeod asked Kenshin. Atsuko looked fine.

Kenshin was breathing rapidly and his shirt was saturated with blood. He was going to need a new duster again because the shoulder was tattered. "They shot me."

"Thought you could dodge bullets," MacLeod teased.

"Only if I see them coming." Kenshin sounded disgusted. His voice was surprisingly strong -- and angry -- given the injury. MacLeod knew from personal experience that damage like that to major joints _hurt_. "He was up on the pier, got me from a distance."

"Here, let me see that." MacLeod gently reached for Kenshin's arm. By the pattern of dark stains of blood on green fabric, he thought the bullet had gone through Kenshin's shoulder joint. He was truthfully amazed that Kenshin was still standing -- and even in the moonlight, the man looked pale. Blood loss, pain, and shock would take their toll until that injury healed.

Kenshin stepped back, awkwardly sheathed his sword left-handed, and then reached down and tucked his useless right hand in his belt so it wasn't dangling free. Brusquely, he said, "It'll heal."

"You're losing a lot of blood, man," MacLeod objected.

"I'll worry about it after we find Heather." Kenshin's words were short, angry. He didn't sound anything like the meek, deferential little man that MacLeod had thought he'd known earlier. "Mac, they were up on the pier with her ten minutes ago."

MacLeod blinked in surprise, both at Kenshin's casual _Mac_, and at his tone of voice. He protested, "Soujiro's that way also. You're in no shape to fight!"

"Hey!" Atsuko shouted, the first to see movement at the end of the pier. The pier had lights on it; they spun to look just in time to see a dark shape tossed thrashing into the inky water. A heartbeat later, a thin distant scream floated on the wind to them.

"Akane!" Kenshin's scream was a wail of disbelief. He burst into a run; MacLeod and Atsuko followed, but they were all too far away. That water was _cold, _and the currents swift.

Heather screamed again, faintly. And then someone dove off the pier into the water. Man-shaped, head-first, a neat arc barely visible against the lights of the pier and the moonlight.

"Mac! Help my niece!" There was no way that Kenshin could fish her out in the shape he was in, and he was smart enough to know it. Even Immortals had limits. Kenshin ran towards the pier. "We'll deal with Bowie."

In the distance, he could see splashing. He kicked his shoes off, dropped his sword on the beach, and ran across the sharp rocks, into the water, and swam for the figure. Twenty feet away, he realized Heather wasn't alone in the water -- she was clinging to a man who was somewhat frantically treading water. Heather was sobbing in terror.

"Soujiro." MacLeod said, through lips rapidly turning numb from the cold. _Soujiro jumped in and saved her. Why?_

"Her hands and feet are tied." Soujiro sounded exhausted already. "Do you have a knife?"

"No! Give her here!" His pocketknife was in his coat, which was on the beach. Soujiro was obviously struggling. MacLeod grabbed Heather in an headlock -- she didn't really resist -- and started kicking for shore. The water sapped his strength; he inhaled a mouthful of salt water that tasted of barnacles and burned his lungs.

Somehow, he made it into the shallows, pulled Heather -- now shivering violently -- up on the beach. He turned around, didn't see Soujiro for a moment, then spotted a dark head bobbing towards shore. Slowly. Without even really thinking about it, he splashed back into that icy water and helped Soujiro to shore. It wasn't until he deposited Soujiro on the beach that he realized the man was also bleeding.

"T-thank you." Soujiro's voice was very faint, like he was at the end of his strength.

"You get shot?" MacLeod asked, crouching over Heather. The girl was shivering violent, lips blue, eyes enormous. She had _no_ body fat -- he'd seen famine survivors who weren't as thin as she was.

"H-hit something when I dived in." Soujiro sat in the sand, shivering and bleeding profusely from a cut on his leg. "That water's disgusting."

"Yeah, we don't do much swimming here." MacLeod said, dryly. "You'll survive. And again, thank you. She'd have gone under before I could have gotten to her."

"Y-you saved me," Heather found her voice. "B-b-b-both of you."

"I've got blankets in my car." MacLeod staggered to his feet, hesitated, and said, "Soujiro, will you stay with her for a moment?"

He was worried about the as-yet unseen Bowie, or other bad guys.

"Yeah." Soujiro's smile was white in the moonlight. "I'll stay here."

MacLeod ran for his car, several hundred feet away. Halfway there he heard gunshots on the pier, looked back, could see nothing.

_Gun's not going to stop Kenshin for long but Atsuko's vulnerable -- ah, hell! _

He couldn't see anything. _If I don't get Heather warm, she's going to die. Kenshin can take of himself, and take care of Atsuko too. _

He hurried back to the two, where he found Soujiro with his arms wrapped around Heather's shoulders, apparently trying to comfort her. It was hard to tell in the dark, but he thought Soujiro looked marginally shockier than Heather. Blood loss versus lack of insulation against the cold water. Soujiro's condition was not likely to last long, however. He draped both blankets around Heather, scooped her up -- she weighed nothing -- and carried her to the car. MacLeod tried to ignore the fact that his own teeth were chattering.

When he turned around, Soujiro was stumbling -- limping badly -- towards the car too. MacLeod thought about being territorial and telling him to shove off, but the guy had actually been the hero this night, and it would probably be best if someone stayed with Heather. He sighed, helped Soujiro to the car -- this got him another one of those smiles, one that MacLeod thought iooked a bit startled -- then lifted the top up, stuck the key in the ignition, and turned the heater on full blast.

Then he grabbed his katana and ran for the pier.

Kenshin was down in a pool of blood, moving only a slightly. There was a large, gaping hole in the back of his duster and his sword was nowhere in sight. MacLeod ignored him; he was out of the fight for now but it was by definition not a fatal injury.

Atsuko was circling with a man twice her size -- some of that bulk was muscle, but he looked a little overweight, as well. No gun, but he had heavy, forearm length blades in each hand. Apparently, Bowie didn't get his handle from the singer.

"Hey." MacLeod said, causing Bowie to glance in his direction -- Atsuko wisely didn't take her eyes off Bowie; she'd likely recognized Mac's voice.

"How about you pick on someone with a bigger knife?" MacLeod stepped between Atsuko and Bowie. Bowie's eyes widened, and he backed away at the sight of Mac's sword. Then he bolted -- right into Kenshin, who'd somehow found his way back on to his feet.

Bowie had a hundred and fifty pounds on Kenshin, and two working arms and he had two very large knives. MacLeod wasn't the slightest bit surprised that it was Bowie who went down with a crunch, and Kenshin who stayed standing.

"Kenshin, damnit," Atsuko said, then switched to Japanese and started haranguing him loudly.

"Bastard kicked my sword off the pier." Kenshin said, after Atsuko ran out of air and had to take a breath. This didn't seem to be a direct response to Atsuko, rather, it was more a general complaint to anyone willing to listen. He limped to the edge and appeared to be considering jumping in after it.

"We'll hire a diver and get it back in the morning," MacLeod said. Having had a taste of that cold water once already, he wasn't inclined to go swimming a second time any time before next summer. And Kenshin was in absolutely no shape for a sword-fishing expedition -- as he watched, the smaller man swayed in place. With some concern, he said, "Kenshin, are you okay?"

"I'll survive ..."

"Which means he's going to pass out on us," Atsuko said, sounding irritated.

Mac lunged forward and caught Kenshin just as his eyes rolled back in his head and he started to collapse. "About time he ran out of adrenaline," MacLeod said, with some amusement. Kenshin would survive and would be as good as new in a few hours. He started to sling Kenshin's arm over his shoulders, then realized the height difference made this fairly impractical and simply scooped Kenshin up. MacLeod raised his estimate of Kenshin's weight upwards -- he was significantly heavier than he looked. His head lolled against MacLeod's shoulder.

"Let's go. We can patch him up at my place. Are _you_ okay?" MacLeod said, heading back to his car.

"I'm fine." Atsuko inspected her right hand, hissed in pain. "I broke a finger when I caught that chain. It's nothing, it'll heal. Kenshin took that second bullet for me."

"He'll survive. You can die." MacLeod pointed out, in response to her apparent aggravation at Kenshin. _If this were Tessa, I'd never in a million years let her go into a fight with me. I'm not sure if this means that Kenshin simply views her as an equal, if he's got a harder heart than he lets on, or if he's given up on _stopping_ her from tagging along after him._

-------------------

Soujiro was still in the back seat of the Thunderbird when Mac arrived with Kenshin still unconscious in his arms, and Atsuko trailing behind. Souji had wrapped both blankets around himself and Heather, and was no longer shivering. MacLeod was willing to bet he was completely healed; he'd have a rather rapid rate of recovery given his sheer power.

Heather looked up, damp hair plastered to her face, then saw Kenshin and exclaimed, "Uncle Kenshin!"

Under his breath to Atsuko, MacLeod asked, "How much does she know?"

"Enough." Atsuko opened the passenger side door for MacLeod. "Calm down, Heather, he'll be fine."

From Kenshin came a groggy, "'Mmm bleeding on your car, Mac-san. I'm sorry."

"Not the first time," MacLeod responded.

"Hold on a sec." Atsuko stopped Mac from shutting the car door. She rifled through Kenshin's pockets, eliciting a pained whimper from Kenshin. _Now_ he was feeling that shoulder. "Sorry, Red -- ah."

She held up his keys. "Mac, we probably can't get Kenshin and Heather up to our apartment without a lot of attention. Can you take them to your place? I'll swing by the apartment and pick up some dry clothes."

"Yeah." MacLeod turned his attention back to Soujiro.

Soujiro saw his look and started to untangle himself from the blankets. He was _not_ a friend -- he'd threatened Tessa and Richie, had killed hundreds of Immortals. _Including friends, I'm betting, _Macleod thought, grimly. MacLeod's look was forbidding. Now that the crisis was over, he was remembering what Joe had said -- three or four heads a year for over a century.

"I'll take you back to your place, Soujiro. Do you have a hotel room?" Atsuko offered. MacLeod gave her a sharp look, wondering if he should intervene there.

Soujiro blinked at her, obviously surprised by the offer, then said, "I've got a car. I'll drive back myself."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I'm fine." He stood up, then looked back at Heather. Heather's eyes were enormous. He bent over, tucked the blankets tight around her, and said, in Japanese, "_Remember what I said, little one._"

From Heather came a nearly inaudible, "_Aa_."

"Good girl." Soujiro grinned at her. The grin didn't fade when he met MacLeod's glowering eyes. He said, cheerfully, "See you later, Duncan."

_That was a threat if I ever heard one_, MacLeod thought, with a mixture of concern and irritation. _I just don't understand this guy. He's trouble, though. I'm sure of it. _


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

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Author's note: I'm contemplating the great fun that could be had with _Amanda_ and Kenshin in the same story. Immovable object meets unstoppable force ... maybe more than one sequel here, actually.

---------------

"This is getting to be a habit, Ken." MacLeod's Scottish burr was the first thing Kenshin heard when he opened his eyes. "I'm going to start charging you rent."

He blinked at the ceiling. "I thank you, Mister MacLeod. Ah -- Atsuko? Heather? Are they well?"

"Both are fine ... Heather's still sleeping, Atsuko and Tess went shopping."

"... Shopping." Kenshin blinked and propped himself up on one elbow. Sunlight streamed through the window in Richie's room. It was well past dawn and pushing close to noon. Shopping involving Tess and Atsuko sounded vaguely dangerous. "How long have I been out?"

"Your friend decided she was going to do something about your wardrobe and your regrettable lack of long coats. You've been out about twelve hours. Which has to be a record, Kenshin, for one of us. You _really_ need to find some bad guys that need killing and take some heads if you're going to keep getting shot." MacLeod's voice held considerable snark.

"I don't make a habit of getting hurt if I can help it." Kenshin sat up, and gingerly probed at his now healed shoulder. "It hurts, that it does."

"Atsuko said you took a bullet for her," Mac said.

"You'd have done the same thing." Kenshin rotated his shoulder. It was stiff, but he figured that would work itself out pretty quickly. "She can die, I can't."

"She's a remarkable woman, Kenshin," Mac said.

Kenshin considered several responses before simply saying, "That I know."

"Mm." MacLeod grunted a response, then said, "There's coffee and bagels in the kitchen if you're hungry."

"I thank you."

MacLeod got up and left without further comment, to Kenshin's relief. He didn't want to discuss Atsuko with Mac largely because he had a good idea what Mac would say. And even discussing the matter was going to bring up old, buried pain.

He peered under the covers and discovered he was dressed in his own clothes -- sweat pants and a t-shirt. Someone had hosed the blood off (again) and dressed him. He wasn't sure which was worse, the thought that it might have been MacLeod and/or Richie or the likely possibility that it had been Atsuko who'd handled it. It would not be the first time that Atsuko had done so.

A clean pair of his jeans were draped over a chair and the sheath for his sword leaned against the wall. With a pang, he remembered his sword was at the bottom of the harbor.

He padded barefoot into the kitchen, where Mac was sipping a cup of coffee.

"Oh, I have something for you," MacLeod reached down beside the kitchen table.

Kenshin saw a flash of steel and leather and put a hand up, reflexively, to catch the sheathed blade.

"Until you get your sword back, at least you'll have something to fight with," MacLeod said, the snark back in his voice.

"Mac, I do not wish to fight with an edged weapon." Kenshin glanced at what he'd caught. It was heavy, and the sheath was of a fairly poor quality -- rough leather, and old without being antique. The sheath was attached to a shoulder harness of slightly cracked and dry leather.

"So use that thing. Mind, a baseball bat may work just as well, but a baseball bat is harder to hide under a coat." Yeah, MacLeod was mocking him, at least a little.

After a suspicious look at MacLeod, he drew the sword out. He was scared it would be something that would make the _battousai _sit up and cheer. Mac's shop had quite a collection of sharp, pointy weapons.

However, to his relief, it was an _iaito -- _a dull practice sword. As _iaito_ went, it wasn't badly made -- it appeared to be folded steel, though by the dents (rather than chips) in the edge, it appeared the steel was softer than it really ought to be. Given that he didn't need it to keep an edge, this was less of a drawback than excessively brittle steel would be. The hilt needed repair, but should last through at least a few battles. It didn't appear to be very old.

MacLeod sipped his coffee and didn't say anything.

Kenshin checked the balance. It was better than he expected. The _iaito _was _heavy_, however; significantly heavier than his sakabatou. And the sheath was crudely made -- he could feel it grab and bind at the sword when he tried to draw it.

"I wouldn't recommend fighting in a serious Challenge with that thing," MacLeod said, quietly. "But it's better than being unarmed."

"I thank you," Kenshin said, sheathing it. He could hear the profound disapproval in Mac's voice -- Mac would have much preferred to loan him something razor sharp and deadly, he was sure. However, Mac was also respecting his choice of weapon and presumably through his antique-dealer connections had found him something on short notice that he _would_ use. "How deep do you think the water is there?"

"Forty, fifty feet. I've already called a salvage company for you. They can send a diver down Wednesday."

It was Monday. He sighed, shrugged into the harness, then adjusted the buckles. "Thank you, Mister MacLeod. You've done too much."

He paused, dim memories of the night before surfacing. "Soujiro Seta was in your car last night, was he not?"

"I'm surprised you even remembered that. You were pretty out of it." MacLeod paused, then said, "You most likely owe your niece's life to him. I wouldn't have reached her in time; he dove off the pier and kept her afloat. Her hands and feet were tied. She would have drowned."

Kenshin said, "He's Challenged you, has he not?"

He half expected MacLeod to deny it. But MacLeod simply sipped his coffee and shrugged.

"You don't have to face him." Kenshin protested. _There has to be another way. MacLeod could die in this fight!_

"He threatened Richie and Tessa." A bit of anger touched MacLeod's words. "He's killed hundreds of us, Kenshin. I know that for a fact."

"What, exactly, did he say?" Kenshin asked, knowing his eyes were glinting with amber.

"He said -- he said if I didn't kill him, people I considered friends might die."

Kenshin considered that. It could be taken two ways -- a general observation, or a specific threat. "Obviously, he's trying to provoke you into a fight. Are you sure he was threatening them and not just talking about killing other Immortals? You're well known, and you do have many friends that he might slay."

"Plus those he has already slain," MacLeod said, darkly.

"Yet he jumped in after Heather, he did," Kenshin said, folding his arms and regarding MacLeod levelly. "I'm honestly not sure what to think, Mac."

"Yeah. You're right, that doesn't make sense. Kenshin, I've got a friend I want to talk to about Soujiro. Ah -- by the way, there's something I've been meaning to mention to you." MacLeod sighed. "There's this group that keeps an eye on us ..."

"Oh, Watchers." Kenshin said, promptly. And he watched MacLeod's eyebrows go straight up with some amusement and surprise. "This one knows all about Watchers, that I do."

"You're _not_ in their records," MacLeod said, after a moment of that startled regard.

"No, that I am not," Kenshin agreed. He contemplated telling MacLeod that story, but decided it was too long and would be best kept for another day. Then he realized this statement meant MacLeod had access to their records. "How do _you_ know about the Watchers?"

"Ah -- that's quite the long story. We're going to have swap tales some night." MacLeod poured himself another cup of coffee then sat down on a corner of the kitchen table. "The short version is that Joe Dawson's my Watcher and we're," he hesitated for a moment, "I guess you could say we're friends."

"And you want me to meet this Watcher." Kenshin folded his arms, frowned, and said, "Sorry, Mac, I'd rather not have spies tagging around after me constantly. Not so much for my own sake, but because it puts my family at risk. And, possibly, the spies as well."

"Ah ..." MacLeod looked sharply away, chewed on his lip for a moment, then said, "Joe already knows."

"I thought you said I'm not in their records," Kenshin said, with a sharp pang of worry.

"Ah, about that ..." MacLeod still wouldn't meet Kenshin's gaze.

_This is MacLeod acting like a little boy who screwed up, _Kenshin thought, with a mixture of amusement and vexed consternation. "You _told _him about me?"

"Not _deliberately!_" MacLeod protested, throwing his hands in the air. "He _guessed_!"

Kenshin ran both hands through his long bangs, pulling them back. He was annoyed enough to feel like pulling his hair _out_. He had tactics for dealing with Watchers and convincing them he was mortal but they weren't likely to work if the Watchers had independent confirmation of his Immortal-ness from Mac. "His name is Joe?"

"Yeah."

"Can you trust him?"

"Dawson? Yeah. His people? No." MacLeod shrugged. "We can ask him to keep quiet about you. He might."

"Or might not." Kenshin fixed MacLeod with a glare for a moment. MacLeod had the good grace to look abashed.

The strong buzz of another Immortal washed over them at that point, putting an end to the conversation. Mac stood up, and said, "Soujiro, I suspect."

They headed for the front door, and determined that it _was_ Soujiro -- the bells on the shop's front door jingled as he entered. He stood, looking around, a calm smile on his face.

"What do you want?" MacLeod said, brusquely. He'd grabbed his sword on the way to the door.

Soujiro grinned broadly. "Why MacLeod, one would think that I hadn't been a hero last night."

"Why'd you do it, Soujiro?" MacLeod said, "Are you trying to impress me? Playing some very odd game? Did you set us up?"

Soujiro turned his attention to Kenshin, smile still on his face. "Is your friend always this cynical?"

"You might answer his questions, please," Kenshin said, voice deceptively mild.

Soujiro glanced at Kenshin, who was regarding him with hard, cold eyes. He shrugged, "I just wanted to see how the girl was doing."

"Heather's fine!" Kenshin said, voice no longer mild and meek. He snapped those words out with cold aggression.

Soujiro's grin didn't fade at all. "I saved her life. I just wanted to follow up, make sure she's okay. You understand."

"Stay away from her, Seta," Kenshin growled. "She's got enough troubles without being involved with one of us, that she does."

Soujiro held his hands up, defensively. "Trust me, Kenshin. I'm not interested in her like you seem to think. She's really _not_ my type. But I wanted to make sure she was okay. She said she'd had some rough times lately."

"Your concern is noted," MacLeod said. "Why don't you leave now?"

"Uncle Kenshin!"

Kenshin turned around at the cry ; Heather stood on the stairs, grinning. She hurried down the stairs and said, "You're okay!"

"Heather, stay there," Kenshin said, as MacLeod flung an arm up to prevent her from getting between them and Soujiro. His sword had vanished; not for the first time, Kenshin wished he could master that skill without taking a few heads.

"It's really true, then," she regarded Kenshin with wide eyes. "You can't be hurt."

"Oh, he can be hurt," MacLeod said, giving her a dark look.

"But not permanently!" She cried, hugging Kenshin despite his best efforts to keep his sword arm free. She seemed completely oblivious to the _iaito. _He couldn't even see Soujiro over her shoulder; his nose was even with her collarbone and her hair obscured his view.

"Heather, I'm glad you're okay too, that I am," Kenshin returned her hug briefly and then managed to extricate himself.

"In the future," Soujiro said, voice tone holding just a hint of sarcasm, "You might chose to associate with better friends, little one. The ones you were with are not nice people."

Kenshin fully expected Heather to snap something rude back at Soujiro for that. But she was quiet, for a moment, meeting the man's eyes levelly. "I know. Thank you for saving my life."

Soujiro inclined his head in a brief, short bow. "I'm not a monster. I could not let a girl simply drown."

"So you've seen she's well and you can go now, that you can," Kenshin said, without any trace of a smile on his face.

"Can't he come in for a bit?" Heather said, a whine in her voice.

Soujiro glanced from Heather, to Kenshin -- whose eyes were flatly threatening -- and then to MacLeod, who had his arms folded, one hand inside his coat, and a certain tension in his stance that promised rapid violence if pushed. "It's perhaps best that I go, Heather."

"Oh, stay. Kenshin's just being an ogre. He swore an oath to protect my ancestor's descendents years ago and he gets all growly and protective anytime a cute guy is even in the same room with me." She patted Kenshin on the arm.

"I'm not sure he's big enough to be an ogre," _That_ came from MacLeod, who now had a bit of a smile playing at his lips -- probably because _Soujiro_'s grin was slipping off his face. Soujiro was looking at Heather with something that was approaching alarm. MacLeod continued, "A dwarf, maybe, though I'm not sure he died old enough to grow an appropriate beard."

"Mac-san!" Kenshin's glare aimed at MacLeod was almost as intense as the one he'd been sending Soujiro's way. Mac grinned back at him.

Soujiro held his hands up, and said, "I just wanted to make sure the girl was okay. I'll be going now."

"Stay ..." Heather said

At the same time, MacLeod said, "Yeah, you run along now."

"They're right. I'm sorry to have bothered you. I should go." Soujiro inclined his head gracefully in Heather's direction and then spun around and fled.

Kenshin muttered something under his breath in Japanese that MacLeod obviously didn't catch -- Mac gave him a puzzled look -- but which caused Heather to spin around and snap, "Oh, you're one to talk."

"Talk about what?" Kenshin retorted, with a little heat in his words. Flirting with Soujiro was just too much. Contrary to popular rumor, he did actually have a breaking point, and Heather had just reached it.

"You! You talk to _me_ about love and _waiting_? You have no fucking clue." Heather pointed a finger at him, voice hitting a strident, angry note. "If I listened to _you_, I'd be a bachelor for seventy years!"

"Bachelorette," MacLeod offered a correction to the term. His Scottish brogue was thicker when he said, "If you were a girl, you'd be a bachelorette."

Kenshin ignored him and Heather's look was positively deadly.

With a huff, she stalked back up the stairs. Kenshin sighed, counted to ten twice, forced his temper under control, and then said mildly, "Maa, maa. What a mess this is."

"I don't envy you, Ken," MacLeod said, "You've got your hands full with that one."


	15. Chapter 15

-1Chapter 15

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Author's Notes: Wow. The end is in sight -- should be done within the next week. This is almost a novel!

-----------------

"How long have you known MacLeod?" Atsuko asked, over mochas at the local Starbucks.

Tessa sipped at her coffee before answering. "Fourteen years. You and Kenshin?"

"All my life." Atsuko sighed heavily. She looked out the window, past Tessa, where there was a second Starbucks immediately across the street. "You're lucky, you know? To have MacLeod."

"I know I am. And you love Kenshin, don't you?" Tessa asked, with a faint smile.

Atsuko didn't even bother to deny it. She simply shrugged and leaned back in her chair. A woman was playing guitar on the sidewalk across the street; she watched as a man tossed a handful of change into her guitar case and the lady tipped the brim of her baseball cap at him. After a moment, she said, somewhat sourly, "It's hopeless, though."

"Why is it hopeless? He obviously cares for you."

"Kenshin is mister warm-and-fuzzy and he loves everyone." Atsuko shook her head, then gave Tessa a sober, sideways look. "I ... I wish there was more there, Tessa. I really do. But he won't allow himself to fall in love with anyone else ever again. He's said that, and almost in so many words."

"He's protecting you?" Tessa guessed, from experience in dealing with MacLeod.

"Uh-uh. He's not protecting me. He _knows _better."

"Then what is it?" Tessa said, puzzled.

"Kenshin is protecting _himself_," Atsuko said, simply. "He hurt so very badly when Kaoru died that he vowed never to love like that again. Losing her nearly drove him over the edge."

"That's terrible!" Tessa shook her head in dismay. "Poor guy. Sure, people die -- but better to have loved and lost than never love at all!"

"Kenshin doesn't see it that way. If you get about a gallon of _sake _into him, he'll even admit it." Atsuko sighed again. She could hear the guitar player when the Starbucks door opened; the woman was very good. "And the worst part is, Kaoru was worried this would happen. She made it very clear she didn't want him to be alone for the rest of his life."

"Did you know her?" Tessa asked, curiously.

Atsuko shook her head, "No, she died well before I was born -- in 1930. My grandmother knew her fairly well, though -- she said she was a remarkable woman. I've seen letters Kaoru wrote to friends and family on the subject of how she expected her death to affect Kenshin. She was basically pleading with everyone to look after him at the end. And everyone did, according to family lore. All his friends and family rallied 'round him after she died.

"You know that vow that Kenshin made? It goes both ways, you know. We _love_ Kenshin."

"I'm not surprised that he has good friends," Tessa said, with a faint smile. "But that was what, sixty two years ago? Surely, the hurt has faded some -- Have you ever -- you know, seen what happens if you make him think you're not waiting around for him anymore? Because he might change his mind about things if he was afraid of losing you," Tessa said, hesitantly.

"What, date someone else?" Atsuko rolled her eyes. "I've dated plenty of guys just because I'm _not_ willing to wait around for him. Some more serious than others. I was engaged, once -- didn't work out. You know, I'd take Kenshin in my bed in a heartbeat -- I mean, he's _gorgeous_! -- but I'm not going to be a nun and pine away because the little idiot has issues!"

"What does he do when you go out with other men?"

"Tells me to have fun. Invites my boyfriends over for dinner and is very nice to them. Sometimes he gives me dating advice, which, coming from that man, is pretty damn funny." She watched the woman on the sidewalk strum her guitar for a moment. "The funnier thing is, he's more often than not _right _when he gives advice."

Tessa shook her head. "He's a fool, Atsuko. He can't pine away for Kaoru forever."

"I've said that. To his face, a few times, when _I've_ had about a gallon of sake!" Atsuko lifted one shoulder in half a shrug. "He gets very quiet and just leaves when anyone brings the subject up, though. Anyway -- I've pretty much given up on anything serious ever happening with Kenshin and me. And he's a great friend. And to tell the truth, I don't _have_ a lot of good friends when I go home -- not people I can be _me_ with, anyway. Most people think I'm stark raving mad as it is."

"You're not mad ..." Tessa protested.

"No, but I don't fit in. I've always been an outsider. -- Ah, don't look now, but we have company," Atsuko said.

Tessa started to turn around.

"I said don't _look_. It's Soujiro."

Tessa said a dirty word under her breath. "What do we do now?"

"Well, we could either pretend we don't see him or we could go have a chat with him." Atsuko drained the last of her coffee down.

"Doesn't that defeat the purpose of not looking?" Tessa protested, with a low laugh.

"Oh, probably. But he's not going to whack our heads off in public." Atsuko stood up, picked the packages up that were stacked at her feet, tossed her coffee cup into the garbage on the way out the door, and stared across the street at Soujiro.

Soujiro met her eyes with an ironic half smile, then turned and walked away, quickly. By the time that they managed to find a break in traffic and jaywalk across the street, he was long gone -- up an alley and out of sight.

"See?" Atsuko said, with a somewhat sour tone of voice. "No danger at all."

---------------

"I want to go out," Heather paced the apartment, arms crossed over her chest, movements nervous and jittery. She was in constant motion: picking things up and setting them down elsewhere, running her hands over the couch and chair backs, turning the kitchen sink on and off, opening the fridge, rearranging Atsuko's magazines on the coffee table.

"It would be unwise, that it would." Kenshin sat serenely on the floor, working mink oil into the dry leather of the _iaito_'s sheath and shoulder harness.

"But I'm _bored_," she reopened the refrigerator. "There's nothing to _eat_."

The refrigerator was, in fact, quite well stocked. Kenshin had just spent three hundred dollars at the grocery store, on the way back from MacLeod's. Completely stocking an empty pantry for three people had been remarkably expensive.

"I will start dinner as soon as Atsuko arrives," Kenshin said, inspecting the stitching on the harness. It needed repair. "In the meantime, there is fruit on the counter."

"I want to go _out_," she whined.

"You're not hungry, you want a hit," Kenshin said, calmly. "If you go out right now, you'll likely find a dealer and buy drugs with the money you took from my wallet when I was talking to MacLeod earlier."

"I didn't!" She spun around, fists balling, anger on her face. "I didn't steal from you! I didn't!"

"My wallet was missing a hundred dollar bill when I paid the cashier at the grocery store," he said, serenely.

"I'm not a thief! You can't accuse me of that! I didn't do it! It was Richie!"

He let that statement hang in the air without commenting on it. He thought they both knew the truth and really, what was the point in arguing about it?

After a moment, she reached into her pocket, pulled a crumpled bill out, slapped it down on the kitchen counter, and snapped, "There. Happy?"

"I am unhappy that you found it necessary to steal from me to pay for drugs, that I am." He inspected the stitching on the harness. It needed repair. He didn't even look at the money, or at her. "If you are going to get high, I cannot stop you. You are responsible for choosing your own path in life. But I will not allow you to _steal_ from me for this."

It was her turn to be silent. She picked at the bandage on her arm, twitchy and fidgeting. He waited. It wasn't like he'd grow old waiting for her to say something. He could take all the time in the world.

"Uncle Kenshin, I'm _sorry_."

"Thank you for apologizing." He watched her out of the corner of his eye now. She was shifting her weight from foot to foot and glancing at the door. He was struck again by how _thin_ she was -- she was all elbows and knees and constant nervous motion. Maybe he should encourage her to eat the fruit.

Dinner would be soon enough. He would fry some fish and make sure she had an extra serving. Or three. And desert. Two helpings. In the meantime, there _was_ a basket of apples and oranges on the counter for snacking.

"I'm a horrible person, aren't I?" She flopped on the couch suddenly and tapped her foot restlessly.

"No," he said, softly. "You're not."

"I was on top of the world. And I threw it all away." She punched a fist into the cushions.

"Was it the world you wanted?" He asked, calmly. Kenshin stood up, walked across the room, and opened the kitchen drawer where he'd put his sewing things. He leaned against the kitchen counter while he threaded a length of cord onto a big needle.

She stared at him, lips quivering, before crying out, "I would have been a doctor!"

"Heather-chan doesn't want to be a doctor." He returned to the harness, knelt, and started picking out the old thread from the holes in the leather with the tip of the needle.

"Everybody else wants me to be a doctor." _That_ was said with a frown that he felt was genuine, and the emotion behind it was something he was somewhat sympathetic with. _I never chose to be a samurai. My path in life was chosen for me._

He said simply, "That they do. What does Heather-chan want?"

"I don't know." She looked away from him, raised her voice, and said, "I don't KNOW!"

He thought for a moment about the Akane he'd known in Japan. "Heather-chan wanted to be an actress, I seem to recall."

"That's stupid." Her laugh sounded false and strained. "I can't be an actress."

He lifted an eyebrow at her. "This one can't be a century and a half years old, that I can't. Yet this one is."

"That's _different_. It's _magic_ or something."

He shrugged, and put the first neat stitch in the harness's leather. With precision, he started stitching up the worn section. "Perhaps it is. Does Heather-chan want to be an actress because she wants to be rich and famous or because she likes acting?"

"I _love_ acting." Her lip quivered. Given the number of times she'd roped him into acting in "plays" for the rest of the family when she was younger, he _knew_ what that answer was.

"There's a little theater a few buildings up the road from here. I noticed it when I rented this place. You should see if they need help."

_She needs something to live for -- something to occupy her thoughts more than the next hit of drugs._ He was grasping at straws, and had no idea if they'd find work for her, even as a volunteer, but it was worth a try. "Why don't you go see if they're there right now?"

"Come with me. I don't want to go alone."

He frowned. "I'm not one for acting, Heather-chan." _And also, I don't have a coat to hide the iaito under._

"I'm scared, Kenshin," she tucked her skinny knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. "If someone offers me drugs, I won't say no."

"You have no money."

"There are other ways of paying."

He contemplated the implication there, and decided, _yes_, he would go with her.

----------------------

The theater was in a run-down block building. A sign out front advertised a production of _Romeo and Juliet_ in a few weeks. From the rear of the building, Kenshin could hear the sharp cracking sound of a nail gun.

"I suppose we should go around back," he said, following the rythmic noise.

The stage had sliding doors at the back; they were open, and a pickup truck was backed up to the door. A rather burly man and an older woman were unloading lumber from the truck, and a second woman -- younger, Goth -- was driving nails into a framework that Kenshin could tell would someday be a faux building and balcony.

All three looked up as he approached. Kenshin smiled, and inclined his head in greeting.

"Can I help you?" The Goth woman walked over, boots crunching on the gravel of the parking lot.

"My name is Kenshin Himura. This is my niece, Heather Sagara." He inclined his head in greeting.

"Raven Jones. You need something?" She didn't sound hostile, exactly, just a bit suspicious. She frowned at him, an expression that Kenshin had learned was sometimes caused by people trying to place his accent.

"I -- I just want to know if you need volunteers. I took some theater classes in college," Heather stammered out.

"You willing to help with sets?" Raven was chewing gum, and popped it loudly.

"Sure. I can do that. I'm good at painting."

"And you?" Raven looked at Kenshin.

"He's just my babysitter," Heather rolled her eyes.

The woman looked amused, now. "You're her uncle, hmm?"

"I am adopted, Miss Jones, that I am," Kenshin said with serene calm.

"He sort've adopted my family years ago. And for the record, he's absolutely no fun." Heather rolled her eyes.

Amy gave Kenshin a long look, head to toe. The burly man hooted a laugh and said in French, to Raven, "_He looks like he could be lots of fun_!"

Kenshin grinned and said in very heavily accented French, "_This one understood that._"

_At least a little, anyway. I hope he doesn't expect me to carry on coherent conversations in it later. _He'd picked up bits and pieces of multiple languages over the years -- though it had been about twenty years since he'd needed much French. _Kenji's grandson. That winter in Paris, with his family, when his wife had cancer ... _Not good memories, there. At least he'd been able to take on a lot of the housekeeping chores and help with the kids.

"Gotcha, Mutt." Raven pointed a finger at him. Mutt had the good grace to blush, mutter, and retreat inside the building with a sheet of plywood balanced on his head. "Sorry about that."

"It's good for him," Heather patted Kenshin on the shoulder. "We pick on him all the time."

Raven grinned suddenly, expression at odds with her dyed-black hair and gloomy black eyeliner. "Easier to, ah, _babysit_, her if you're helping out too. Perhaps you might like to help out here too? I'd sure like you to."

_This one thinks he's just been hit upon, _Kenshin thought, with some amusement.

He contemplated allowing himself to be drafted. It _would_ let him keep a closer eye on Heather. On the other hand, Heather might come to resent his presence. On the third hand, he didn't actually have anything to _do _here most of the day. He'd be bored in a hurry if he didn't find something to occupy his time.

"Mutt, why don't you show Heather where the paint is? She can start painting the tree trunks." Raven raised her voice so the large man could hear her. "Heather, Mutt's really not as scary as he looks, I promise."

"I _heard_ that," Mutt said, reappearing. He was still avoiding Kenshin's gaze. Kenshin felt a bit bad about teasing him, now; the politer thing to do would have been to simply pretend he didn't understand any French at all. On the other hand, eavesdropping was also rude, and at least this way, Mutt knew he spoke the language.

After Mutt had led Heather away, Raven said quietly, "Intervention, huh?"

"If you're asking if I'm trying to get Heather-chan straightened out, the answer is yes, that it is." Kenshin ran a hand through his hair.

"Heroin or crack?"

"Heroin."

"Mph. Like to know what I'm dealing with, anyway." Raven ran a hand through her black hair, chipped black nail polish almost, but not quite, blending in. The shades of black were just slightly different. "I won't tolerate drugs on my crew."

"She's been clean for a little over a week, that she has. She got out of the hospital yesterday, and was attacked by her boyfriend's brother and his buddies last night," Kenshin said, deciding full disclosure might be in order.

"Great gobs of joy. Thanks for the warning." Raven didn't sound upset; she did sound a bit cynical.

"I appreciate you taking her on." Kenshin watched through the doorway as Heather walked past with a bucket of paint and a tray with a brush in it. "I'll do my best to keep her from returning to drugs, but it's ultimately up to her, that it is."

He added, "I'm hoping getting involved in something like this might give her incentive to _stay_ clean."

Raven pursed her lips for a moment. "I'll make sure she knows about my no-drugs policy."

A couple of boys walked out through the doorway, both carrying swords. Kenshin's heart rate doubled for a few seconds. He had no weapon on him. Then he realized, _Actors. Not Immortals. _He relaxed, mostly, though he kept an eye on them out of pure ingrained habit.

"So where are you from?" Raven asked, politely.

"I am from Japan," Kenshin said, glancing again at the two boys.

"Really?"

_"_And truly." Kenshin lifted an eyebrow at her, expecting the inevitable and somewhat annoying comment, _You don't look Japanese._ Or, possibly, _I love sushi_, or something along those lines. Or even something as inane as, _Isn't Japan in China? _-- Westerners, he'd learned, weren't necessarily that good with geography or other people's cultures.

"Your English is excellent. How long have you been here?" Raven surprised him by accepting his statement at face value_. I shouldn't assume because she dresses strangely that she's stupid or ill-educated, _Kenshin reminded himself.

"I travel a lot," Kenshin explained, with a small shrug. "English is useful because so many people speak it. I am afraid I badly mangle it, however."

"Don't put yourself down. You've done fine so far. And I love your accent." She had dimples when she smiled.

"I thank you." He said, absently, watching the kids with the swords more closely. They were really banging the blades together hard, and with little skill. "Ah ...!" He started to yell a warning, just as one boy clipped the other on the hand with his sword. Kenshin winced as the injured boy stuffed his fingers in his mouth.

"Mark! I'm sorry!" The first boy cried.

"Maa, maa, let me see." Kenshin walked over, concerned and half expecting to see blod.

The boy -- he looked about fourteen -- gave Kenshin a dubious look, but obediently let Kenshin inspect his spit-damp hand. His fingers were a little bit bruised, but not broken or cut. He'd been lucky, and the blow glancing.

"You'll be okay," Kenshin crouched down and picked the sword up. It was lighter than he expected for the size -- it looked like a broadsword, but weighed about half what it should have. The sword was blunt, though the edge would still split the skin if you smacked someone with it hard enough. _Huh. The blade's aluminum. _

"You guys need to be more careful," Raven scolded, "You're not paying attention."

"They need training," Kenshin said, quietly. "They're going to hurt themselves worse than a few bruises."

"Yeah, I can see that. I'll need to find someone ..." Raven sounded dubious. Seacouver didn't exactly have much of a theater scene; he wondered how easy it would be for her to find someone with the right sort of knowledge -- someone that this small company could _afford_. He hadn't missed how quickly she'd jumped on the offer of help from Heather and the possibility of it from him.

Kenshin said slowly, "Romeo and Julie is set in 1500's England ..." he handed the sword back to Mark, and then adjusted his grip on it. "I think they would have held it more like this, that I do. Lower, please. Bring the tip up a bit. And your foot forward -- more -- put your weight forward. There ... that is the correct way, it is."

"You know sword fighting?" Raven said, sounding suddenly impressed.

"Aa. This one knows a little. I can make them safer with this, if you wish me to." He surprised himself by making the offer.

"By all means!" Raven said.

_Oro! Hiko-sensei is surely laughing off his arrogant ass at the irony of _HitokiriBattousai _teaching people how _not _to kill each other!_

Hours later, both boys were drenched in sweat, breathing hard, but picking up the basics quickly. Though Kenshin wasn't entirely sure why they were calling him _Mr. Miyagi _ -- a pop culture reference, perhaps. He'd ask Richie later, he wasn't much older than these two boys and might know what the name meant.

Kenshin judged that with a week or two of tutoring, they'd be ready to appear on stage without treating the audience to an unexpected bit of bloody realism in the middle of a fight between Romeo and Tybalt. He promised to return and work with them -- and the rest of the cast -- a bit more the next day.

He hadn't realized the amount of time that had passed until Heather appeared. She had paint in her hair and on the sleeve of her t-shirt, but a genuine smile on her face. "I finished four entire tree trunks, Kenshin!"

"Good work," he beamed at her. "I'll be done here in a little bit. Do you want to meet me at home? You can make a salad to go with dinner. Atsuko-chan should be at the house by now."

-----------------

_Four whole trees!_ And Raven had complimented her, telling her she'd done a good job on them. And Mutt had put an arm around her shoulders and ruffled her hair and told her she was a _good kid_ and to _come back tomorrow morning_.

Heather couldn't quite keep a smile off her face as she hurried home. They liked her. They wanted her back!

It was funny -- once upon a time, she'd been head of her class in her school, aced every test she took, accepted to multiple top colleges, and had future employers already courting her. _Those four trees feel like a bigger triumph than straight A's in all my classes last semester._

She'd dabbled in drugs for years. Thought she could handle it. Heroin took the anxiety away, the worry, the _will I pass this test or will father kill me? _thoughts and the equally terrible, _everybody hates me _thoughts. Even thinking about it made her crave a hit ... resolutely, she turned her thought away from that welcome relief. For now. The thought would come back later, of course. It always did. The thought that she could make the _worry go away_ with a few bucks and a needle.

Heather, hands in her pockets, mulled the afternoon over. _I haven't done anything _right _in forever. Even Kenshin knows I'm a loser._

_Damnit, I _can _do good. I'm going back tomorrow, show Raven and Mutt exactly _how _much help I can be. _

It was like she'd been walking through the darkness for a long, long time and suddenly there was a light, off in the distance. A goal. Something to strive for.

_They're always laughing. Raven is smart and kind, and Mutt's funny as hell. I like them._

Ahead, a man lounged against a battered concrete wall covered with indecipherable graffiti. Athletic, lean, with a round, boyish face and a pleasant smile. _Soujiro_.

She grinned, and waved. "Souji-san!"

He nodded in greeting. "Hello, Heather."

He'd been waiting for her. She smiled, realizing this. _He saved my life last night. And he stayed with me._

She'd been so scared -- scared that Bowie would come find her in the car, or that somebody would get killed fighting with Bowie's people. And she'd thought she would never be warm again. Soujiro had listened to her, had held her close with the blanket around both of them. He'd been kind; more than that, he'd _listened. _She'd felt safe and secure. He'd _cared_.

"What are you doing here?" She knew she was grinning like a loon. _He's so hot! I wonder if he could be interested in me? Kenshin's wrong about him being trouble. He saved my life!_

He was _very _athletic. Nice butt in tight jeans, muscular shoulders, corded muscles standing out on his forearms. His t-shirt was snug and she could see the outline of clearly defined abs. _Bet he's _awesome _in bed._

"Waiting for you." His smile remained, and he met her eyes.

_Oh, God, he might actually like me. _

He hooked his thumbs in his jeans pockets and said, "Walk with me, will you?"

"Sure," she said, heart thumping rapidly. _I wonder if I could convince him to invite me back to his place. _

He was quiet, for a moment, matching her strides, until he said, "Let's walk along the waterfront," at an intersection.

After another long moment of silence -- she hadn't a foggy clue what to say -- he finally glanced sideways at her, and said, "So where's your uncle?"

"Teaching some boys to play at swords for Romeo and Juliet." She was relieved for a subject to discuss with him.

Soujiro's smile broadened. "_Hitokiri Battousai, _the last master of _Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu_,is teaching actors to play with swords. The world has ceased to turn on its axis and the sun has turned purple."

Heather frowned at him. She didn't quite understand why Soujiro found this funny. "One of the kids got hurt. They were really pretty awful -- even _I _could see that. You know what Kenshin's like when it comes to kids. He was there in two seconds, making it all better."

Soujiro's grin didn't slip at all. "I see. He's a good man, isn't he?"

"Kenshin? I suppose." She thought about that for a moment. He _had _traveled all the way around the world to help her out. "Yeah. I owe him a lot. We all do."

Soujiro said quietly, "I'm not going to fight him -- at least, not now. I'm not a monster."

"I know you're not a monster. You saved my life. I thought I was going to _die_ and then you were there!"

"I suppose I did." His smile slipped a little. He looked thoughtful now.

They'd reached the shore -- beyond a sea wall there was a narrow strip of rocky beach. The air smelled of salt and fish and seaweed here. The tide was in, but the water was very still; it was a hazy, damp evening with no wind at all. The sun was setting behind the clouds; it would be dark in half an hour.

Soujiro sat down on the top of the sea wall with his legs hanging over the edge, and patted the cement next to him. She obediently joined him, knees and hips touching his. They were almost the same height. _Maybe he'll put his arm around me. Or -- or _kiss _ me._

He scooted a few feet sideways, turned 90 degrees so that he was facing her, and sat cross-legged on the concrete surface. "How much do you know about us? I mean, Immortals. I know you know at least a little because you were not surprised this morning when your uncle was healed."

She blinked at him. "Ah. I know that Kenshin was born in 1849 and will never die or age."

"Unless someone takes his head." Soujiro looked away from her, for a moment. "For what it's worth, that won't be me. I don't need his Quickening that much and I'm _not _a monster."

"Unless someone takes his head. I don't quite get why someone would do that." She regarded Soujiro for a long moment, anxiety suddenly gripping her heart. _What's he getting at? Damn, I could have used a hit before this conversation. Just a little one. Wonder what he'd do if I just jumped his bones?_

"It's about power, kiddo." Soujiro tucked one knee to his chest, leaned on it, and stared out over the ocean.

"Power?"

"When I kill another Immortal, I get their power -- their knowledge, their skills, and something of the power that made them Immortal. The more Immortals whose heads I take, the faster I heal from injuries, the better I am at sensing other Immortals, and I think it has a few other effects ..." He trailed off and tossed a pebble into the waves lapping the shore twenty feet away.

A seagull cried above their heads; Soujiro looked up at it for a moment, watching it circle in the still, cold air. Finally, he said, "I'm a killer, Heather."

"I don't believe that!" She protested.

"I -- a long time ago, I thought I'd be a hero. I thought I'd just kill bad guys, you know? And Immortals have more than their share of evil men and women. I was happy to kill them. They deserved to die and the world was a better place for their passing. I thought I'd found my destiny."

He tossed another pebble. The seagull saw it and swooped down, looked for a nonexistent treat among the rocks. "Kiddo, when I kill another Immortal I get their power, but I get something of their nature, too. About fifty years ago, I learned the hard way that there's a limit to the number of bad guys one can kill before you _become _that which you hunt."

"I don't understand."

"I often wonder how many evil immortals started out as good and decent people. Take enough heads and the evil consumes you. I reached my limit ... and then I did some very terrible things," he regarded her levelly. His smile had disappeared; his expression was very serious now. "You don't need to know the details; suffice to say that I have many regrets about those years."

"Yet you got better?"

"I killed a holy man, took his Quickening." Soujiro watched a crab picking its way between the rocks for a moment. "It ... changed me. That Quickening from a truly pure and good man brought me back to myself."

"MacLeod told Kenshin you take heads all the time."

"People who are playing the Game, yes. Heather, you have to understand -- taking Quickenings is part of being an Immortal. I intend to be the last Immortal left standing in the very end, and that's not going to happen if I stay on the sidelines while everyone else in the Game gets stronger."

"You're after MacLeod's head."

"He's a fair target. He's in the Game. He knows the score. It's nothing personal."

Heather leaned forward, deliberately put her hand on his knee, and said, "There _has_ to be another way."

He jumped a bit at her touch, then reached down, caught her hand in his -- and very deliberately put her hand back on her own leg. "Kiddo, there's something else I want to make sure you understand."

"Yeah?"

"I know you're eying me with romantic interest because I saved your life and because you think I'm attractive. And it isn't going to happen. I'm sorry." He said this a bit of a blush, and while staring out over the ocean. "I just wanted to make sure that you were okay, and that you knew I wasn't going to attack Kenshin. And that I'm not evil."

"I don't care what you are. I don't." She balled her fists. "You can find another way around killing people. I'll help you figure it out."

He met her eyes. "Heather, I'm _sorry_. But you're just not my type."

"What. Because I'm a druggy? I can go _clean_,Soujiro. If you help me. I know I can!"

He sighed and gave her a brutally honest answer. "Heather-san, I wouldn't be interested romantically in _anyone_ with a recent history of drug use. I do have significant issues with that. Most decent men would; I suggest you figure out how to stay clean if you want to find someone worth having a relationship with. But that person will not be me."

"You won't even give me a chance?" She sprang to her feet, tears welling up.

"Heather!" He protested. He stood up too, and grabbed her shoulders, and said, "Listen to me!"

"No! I don't have to! I know what you're going to say! No man worthwhile has _ever _liked me." She backed away. "I'm worthless. I know I am. I _know_ it. You didn't have to build my dreams up like that then smash them! You bastard!"

He flinched hard, a sudden trace of anger in his eyes. Then smile returned to his face, and he took a step towards her, extending a hand as if to rest it on her shoulder. "Kiddo, you really misunderstand ..." He grinned, "Please, listen to me. I can explain and it's not as bad as you think!"

"What don't I understand? That no one will _ever_ give me a chance? That I'll never be _anyone_? I should just go end it all!" She pushed him, suddenly, right off the sea wall and onto the rocky beach several feet below. "You're laughing at me! You think this is funny! Look at you smile!" Then she bolted, running with blind tears in her eyes.

"Son of a bitch," Soujiro said, sourly, reflexive grin slowly fading. He stood up, dusting sand, gravel, and bits of broken clam shells from the seat of his pants. "That went spectacularly well, now didn't it? Should've just left her well enough alone."


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

-----------------

Author's Notes:

Thanks for all the compliments, everybody. This story's wrapping up in the next chapter or two, but there will be a sequel largely 'cause I see people are actually reading this and liking it.

-----------------

Kenshin arrived home later than he'd anticipated; the boys had been _fun_ -- he loved kids, he truly did. Mark was fourteen and cast as Romeo, his buddy Magnus -- Tybalt in the play -- was fifteen. Both were good boys, typical teenagers.

After they'd put the swords up, the two boys had insisted on showing him skate-boarding moves in a nearby culvert for half an hour. They were convinced, by the end of it, that Kenshin could be a champion skateboarder. _Hiko would be so proud of me_, Kenshin thought, with sardonic amusement, as he opened the apartment door.

"Kenshin?" Atsuko was in the kitchen, dicing vegetables. "Where have you been?"

"I got Heather involved at a local theater up the street, helping build sets. I helped a bit too. It was fun, that it was."

Atsuko paused her chopping and peered at him as if to make sure this was the same Kenshin she'd known for her entire life. "You've never been interested in the theater before."

"Heather is, though," Kenshin shrugged. "I'm going back tomorrow. Where's Heather?"

"I assumed she was with you." Atsuko's gaze registered a bit of alarm now.

Kenshin's heart skipped a beat. "She did not come home?"

"No, haven't seen her. I've been here about two hours."

Kenshin ran a hand over his head, dismayed. "I erred, apparently, in judgment. I am sorry, Atsuko-chan. I thought she could safely walk from the theater to here; it is only about a third of a kilometer and Bowie isn't going to be out and about for a long time. I broke his kneecap, that I did. He is not a threat to her right now. And it was the middle of the afternoon along a busy street."

"It's not your fault," Atsuko said, sounding distinctly aggravated. "She probably met someone. Odds are, she's stoned out of her head by now."

"I was sure she'd come straight home, that I was." Kenshin hesitated. "This doesn't feel right. I think we should look for her, Atsuko-chan, that I do."

"You're right." Atsuko sighed. "Oh, MacLeod called -- he found someone who's going to try to get your _sakabatou _out of the water tonight."

"He's a good friend."

"Since I didn't know where you were, he said he'd meet the guy there. He said they'd retrieve it at night to avoid attracting attention -- apparently, swimming isn't legal in those waters."

"That is good, it is."

"Here, this is for you." Atsuko grabbed a shopping bag off the table and tossed it to him. "Tess and I went all the way to Seattle to get it for you. You'd better wear it."

Kenshin pulled the contents of the bag out. It was a knee length leather coat, in his size -- but it was curiously heavy. It appeared to be lined with very heavy fabric.

"Some reporters are starting to wear those when out in the field on dangerous assignments. It'll stop a bullet from a handgun, or from a rifle if you're far enough away. It won't stop a slug from a rifle if you're too close."

"You got me a bullet-proof coat," Kenshin said, eying her with a little amusement. He had not been aware that bullet proof clothing came in anything other than bulky vests.

"Put it on, Ken-chan. It should fit. It's the same size as your duster was."

He shrugged into it. It fit well enough -- inevitably, it was too long in the sleeves, but he had his sewing kit and he could fix that easily -- and there was room under it for his sword. Drawing the sword up through the collar was going to be impossible, but he could reverse the sword, hang it upside down across his back, and draw it that way. It would work if he put a cord with a snap on the sheath to hold the sword in place.

"Thank you, Atsuko-chan. This is most thoughtful."

"It'll turn a blade, too."

"That's probably cheating, that it is," Kenshin said, picking the _iaito_ up. He was smiling when he spoke.

After a moment's thought, he wrapped several lengths of cord around the hilt of the training sword and the harness to hold it in place and tried it on upside down. It felt awkward, but would work -- he could make a better harness and sheath for his _sakabatou_ when he got it back.

"Think of it as armor, Kenshin," she hugged him suddenly, a purely friendly, platonic hug. Her hair smelled of strawberry scented shampoo. "I-I don't want to lose you. It'd break my heart. Will you wear it for me?"

"Aa. I'll wear it for you."

"Let's go find that worthless excuse for a niece," Atsuko said, voice suddenly and suspiciously hoarse.

-------------------

Soujiro didn't know if he should be exasperated or panicked. He'd searched the bad parts of the city for hours for Heather without any sign of her. By the angry, desperately hurting tone in her voice he was truly concerned she would hurt herself. He'd inadvertently pushed her buttons just right -- buttons he hadn't even been aware existed.

_I'm not a monster, I'm not! _Soujiro thought, viciously. _I won't be responsible for some dumb chick killing herself because I accidentally broke her heart. _

He figured he could have handled that _much_ better. Though he was somewhat baffled as to _why_ she had reacted so badly. _I mean, if she'd just listened a moment longer, she'd have realized it's _not _personal._

_Baka Immortal,_ He thought savagely at himself. _You're over a century old. You should have known how to handle it better. You're just _clueless_ most of the time._

People baffled him, sometimes and had since he was a child. _The smile only gets you so far. She thought you were laughing at her. Stupid old man. Stupid, stupid._

It wasn't his fault. Really. So why did he feel so guilty?

_Maybe I should go tell Kenshin what's up with his niece. But -- no. He made it clear that he wanted me to get lost earlier today. If he found out I made Heather upset, he'll be extremely angry. _

Soujiro had _no _desire to face the _Battousai_, even if he _was _like to walk away alive. The last time had left his soul flayed to the bone. He _still _had nightmares about the horrible memories that Kenshin had dragged up for him during that fight.

_Anyway, I don't want to challenge Kenshin. I like the guy, even if he does hate me. And he's emphatically not in the Game. Not a fair target._

Soujiro turned down Fifth Street. There were hookers here, clustering under the streetlights. Cars were parked suspiciously in otherwise empty parking lots. Other vehicles trolled by slowly, looking for trouble of various descriptions. A woman wearing an old army coat and sweat pants muttered obscenely at him from the alcove as he walked past.

He kept alert -- while unlikely to be permanently killed in a neighborhood such as this, being temporarily dead would be inconvenient and, likely, painful.

And area looked familiar -- he realized he'd been here only the night before, following Kenshin and Atsuko in their rescue of Heather. With sudden, sick realization he headed for the pier. _She wouldn't. There's a twisted sort of poetry if she is there, or if she's ..._

She hadn't jumped, but she _was_ at the very end of the pier, visible as a skinny figure under the lights. The pier was at least a hundred yards long -- Soujiro, very quietly, began to pick his way towards her. The worn, weathered boards creaked underfoot until he began walking on the very edge where they were screwed into support beams. Then his approach silent. He would sneak up behind her, grab her so she couldn't jump, and _make _her listen, he decided.

Heather swayed as he watched, staggered a bit. _High_, he thought. He hurried towards her as quietly as he could -- she had her back to him, standing on the very edge. He could hear her now, saying over and over, "They hate me! They hate me!" in Japanese. And, "I'll never be anyone!"

Her clothing was rumpled. As he watched, she stumbled and nearly fell off. She was going to go for a dive into the drink _accidentally, _even if she didn't jump. He had absolutely _no _desire to go for a swim again in that frigid, trash-filled water.

Something warned her when he was a few feet away. She looked back, then said, "Leave me alone! You h-h-ate me!"

Her words were slurred, and her pupils enormous. _She's not going to be rational,_ he decided, and simply put on a burst of speed, caught her before she could even react, and yanked her away from the edge.

It was like grabbing hold of a wildcat. Whatever she was on was probably not heroin -- or not _just _heroin. Nobody sober could have fought him like that, either. She screamed and thrashed, insane strength. He heard her shirt rip and buttons popped; she _bit _him on the arm and reflexively, he smacked her in the face with his free hand until she let go. She howled outrage when he caught her in a headlock and pulled her farther from the edge.

"Stop it!" He said, "Heather, damn it, stop!"

She tripped, fell, taking them both down. He landed on top of her, and used his greater weight to pin her down. She kicked and thrashed and bit him again. "Heather! Stop it!"

She was still screaming wordlessly when he felt the buzz of another Immortal.

----------------------

The damp hilt of Kenshin's _sakabatou _was comfortable in MacLeod's hand. The sword had been made by a master -- Mac held it up, studying it in the glow of the lights from the pier. It was very well made; the balance was perfect.

"Thanks for coming out. My friend will be happy to have this back."

"Not a problem," the diver said, looking around warily. Carlos had told Mac it was illegal to dive here -- but he was willing to do so for enough money, as long as they did it at night. (Night made no difference for _finding _the sword, he'd said -- the water was so murky that it was pitch black at fifty feet anyway.)

"That's a beautiful sword."

"Yeah, my friend was pretty upset to lose it." MacLeod said, walking back towards his car, parked by the pier. "I'll get it back to him tonight ..." That was when the buzz of another Immortal rolled over him, and a girl screamed.

"Trouble," the diver said, looking towards the pier.

"Ah, no, they're shooting another scene for the movie." MacLeod lied glibly. The cover story he'd given the diver for the loss of the sword into the water was, _They were shooting a scene for a movie and an actor tripped and dropped it._

"You think I could watch?" The diver said.

"Afraid not. Listen, they need me ..." MacLeod shoved several bills at the man and headed in a run in the direction of the screaming.

_Soujiro!_

He saw Soujiro first then realized the man was laying on top of a girl, pinning her to the deck of the pier. She was screaming, thrashing, and her shirt was torn. Soujiro's arm was bleeding.

_Heather_ -- Heather's cheek was bruised, and her howls were terrified and inarticulate. Her shirt was in tatters, gaping open.

"Let her go!" MacLeod held Kenshin's _sakabatou _menacingly, backwards, business edge in play.

"MacLeod!" Soujiro saw him over Heather's shoulder. She was trying desperately to get free.

"Let her go!" MacLeod growled, furious outrage making him almost literally see red. _I knew he was trouble. I _knew _it. He was _raping _her! _

Soujiro saw the sword and flinched. "You don't understand!"

"Get away from her, or so help me, I'll kill you right there!"

Soujiro rolled to his feet, his own sword flashing into his hand. MacLeod's swing for Soujiro's head was deadly serious and lightning fast and would have ended the fight right there if Soujiro hadn't dodged so fast that MacLeod felt the wind of his passing.

Heather, whimpering, scrambled away from them, found her feet somewhat clumsily, and stood staring with her hands over her mouth. MacLeod spared her only the briefest of glances. _This is going to be a hell of a fight, _he thought, watching Soujiro warily.

Soujiro's sword was a katana -- no surprise there -- but it was shorter than MacLeod's own. A light weapon, it would be wickedly fast.

_But he relies on speed over defense, _MacLeod forced his anger back, made himself focus. He intended to survive this fight and take the bastard's head. There had to be a way to use Soujiro's speed to _his _advantage.

"MacLeod!" Heather screamed, "Soujiro! Stop!"

"He's got to be _stopped!" _MacLeod snapped at her. "Stay out of the way!"

He and Soujiro circled each other warily. Soujiro balanced on the balls of his feet, watching him. "You're not good enough to defeat me, Mac."

"Try me."

_Whoosh_. He couldn't even _see_ Soujiro move -- suddenly the guy just disappeared. Reflexively, Mac brought his sword up, and steel rang on steel with enough force to render his hands numb. He didn't look for Soujiro, he just kicked out with his foot, hoping to connect. His boot hit only air, and Soujiro was no longer in front of him.

A board cracked with a sound like a rifle shot behind him -- MacLeod's only warning. He flung himself aside, just one step, brought his sword up, parried a blow that was so forceful it felt as if it would knock the teeth from his jawbones -- then instantly reached over the blade to grab Soujiro's wrist before Soujiro had even slowed down. It was a blind, lucky snatch. He spun again, pulling Soujiro off balance while he was still moving and body checked him.

Soujiro flipped head over heels and rolled several times across the pier. When he scrambled back to his feet, he was limping badly.

"That was lucky," Soujiro said with a bright smile. "You won't be able to do it again."

"I'm going to have your head." MacLeod glanced again at Heather. The girl was clutching the front of her tattered blouse together, and sobbing. He wondered why she hadn't run away yet. He turned his attention back to Soujiro; this was truly a fight for his life and he knew it. Soujiro was right. He'd been lucky.

Once more he glanced at the girl. This was not good; she was likely to see someone die today.

Then he saw something else -- a chance to _win _this thing. Slowly, he backed away from Soujiro, who was watching him with a smile that wasn't really a smirk -- it was just blandly inoffensive, no real meaning behind it. _Guy's a freak._

_"Stop!" _Heather cried, behind him. "MacLeod! Soujiro! _Stop! Please!_"

MacLeod backed up farther. Soujiro charged him, feet thundering on the boards ... until he hit the board that MacLeod had seen, a board with a big empty knothole right in the middle of it. The board _snapped_ and Soujiro's foot went through the gap up to his knee.

MacLeod said, "Gotcha!" And Soujiro smiled below eyes that were utterly blank, emotionless. Macleod sprang forward, adjusting his grip and swinging Kenshin's _sakabatou_ back for a hard, full-force, beheading blow. He would see this bastard _dead_.

Except the sword collided with something that yielded, and Heather _grunted _behind him.

"HEATHER!" Soujiro screamed, horror flashing into those empty eyes.

MacLeod spun around. Heather had been behind him -- running forward, he guessed. She tumbled down, blood streaming, pouring really, down from her arm. He could see bone, shattered bone, and there was so much blood. _The sakabatou -- I adjusted how I was holding it out of habit, it's got a balance very similar to my own katana and I forgot what I was holding. I hit her with the sharp edge because the blade is reversed!_

And -- beyond Heather, a small red-haired man stood, face gone dead white, scars standing out in terrible bold contrast. _Kenshin. Kenshin was there. Kenshin had been watching._

Kenshin ran forward, stripping out of his coat and t-shirt as he did so. He fell to his knees at Heather's side and wadded the fabric against the horrible wound.

Kenshin's voice betrayed no emotion whatsoever when he said, "MacLeod, my cel phone is in my coat pocket. Please call an ambulance."

"He tried to _rape _her!" MacLeod stammered.

"I didn't!" Soujiro protested.

"Heather, what are you on?" Kenshin said, ignoring both of them and pressing hard on the wound. MacLeod could _see _the arm bending where it shouldn't. She didn't answer him.

Soujiro extricated his foot and eyed MacLeod, sword in hand. MacLeod tensed.

"BOTH OF YOU!" Kenshin shouted, voice desperate -- horrified. Amber glinted in his eyes, and real anger was on his face. "Put your swords away and help me out here!"

Soujiro's sword instantly vanished under his coat. MacLeod, chagrined, put his katana away. He went for the cel phone.

Soujiro fell to his knees beside Heather, and said, "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry this happened, Heather!"

She whimpered wordlessly, eyes vague and unfocused. MacLeod wasn't sure how Kenshin could tell 'drugs' from 'shock' -- but Kenshin's words seemed to indicate that he thought Heather was high.

Kenshin moved aside, wiped his bloody hands on his pants leg, and said in a very quiet voice, "What happened here?"

MacLeod dialed 911 -- and to his dismay, found himself _holding_. It felt very wrong to call 911 and get put on hold! "C'mon! Pick up!" He paced restlessly, then stopped and stared at the scene with Kenshin and Soujiro and Heather.

Soujiro was crying, MacLeod realized -- tears streamed down the man's face. "I screwed up, Kenshin. I'm sorry!"

"What did you _do_?" Kenshin demanded.

"He tried to _rape_ her!" MacLeod repeated, over the sound of hold music and repeated messages to _please wait for the next operator. _

"I didn't!" Soujiro denied, voice hoarse. He balled his fists, "I _couldn't_!"

"Soujiro, I think it's best that you leave," Kenshin said, quietly. His eyes met MacLeod's. MacLeod flinched at the expression there. _Betrayal. _And not at Soujiro.

_All he saw was me hit her with the blade, _MacLeod realized, with a chill. The emotion in those eyes -- gone completely amber -- froze him to his core. Those were the eyes of a killer. _Hitokiri Battousai. _

"I didn't!" Soujiro protested.

"I believe you, Souji." Kenshin said, quietly. He gave Soujiro a brief glance. It felt utterly unfair to MacLeod that Kenshin wasn't glaring at Soujiro with the same intensity. "Go. We will _talk _later."

Kenshin's cel phone beeped, and a voice said, "_911, what is your emergency?"_

"My friend's niece -- she's hurt badly ..." MacLeod said, staring in horror at the t-shirt Kenshin was holding to her arm. It was completely saturated through with blood. Veteran of a hundred wars, he was familiar with trauma and this did _not _look good. He told the operator, "She's bleeding badly. You have to get someone here in a _hurry_!"


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

----------------

Author's Notes: Short chapter here. More soon, I promise.

----------------

"Mac?"

It was late -- very late, closer to morning than midnight and MacLeod had not come to bed.

Tessa regarded the back of MacLeod's head for a long moment, waiting for him to acknowledge her. Since retrieving the sword had sounded relatively non-threatening, she'd gone to sleep without him. His absence in the bed had woken her much later. She'd been relieved to find him home; dismayed to see that all was not right with his world.

He was staring into the empty bottom of a tumbler; a bottle of good bourbon sat on the coffee table with a level substantially lower than she remembered. His hair was loose, dark waves tumbling down around his shoulders. From years of experience, she knew that, generally speaking, MacLeod with his hair down meant MacLeod in distress. And by his posture, she knew things had gone badly somehow.

"Duncan?" Tessa said, quietly.

"Go back to bed, Tessa," he said, quietly.

"_No_." She sat down on the couch next to him. "What happened?"

His eyes were bleak when he met hers. "An accident."

"Did somebody die?"

"I don't know." His accent was thicker than normal.

She curled up against him. After a moment, his arm went around her, and he buried his face in her hair, and exhaled a long, ragged sigh.

"What happened?"

"Tessa, I love you," MacLeod murmured.

"I know you do. What happened?" She rested a hand against his cheek. His breath smelled of alcohol, just a little but not nearly as much as she'd feared.

He set the glass down with a clink on the coffee table, sighed, and said quietly, "Soujiro was raping Heather."

Tessa's drew a breath in sharply. "Did you kill him?"

"No." One word, and a world of pain in it. "I _would _have, and the bastard deserved it. Heather got in the way. I damn near took her arm off." He paused, then somewhat to Tessa's mystification, snapped, "Kenshin is a _fool_."

Bald words. MacLeod met her eyes, stark pain there. "I never even saw her."

"I'm sorry, Duncan. Is she going to be okay?"

"She won't be okay. That was a crippling injury. I don't know if she'll survive." MacLeod ran a hand over his face, and made a frustrated sound under his breath. "I'm going to take Soujiro out, but I need to be a better swordsman than I am to do it."

"You're good _now_," Tessa protested, alarmed.

"Soujiro is better." MacLeod had seen his own death while facing the man. He wasn't afraid to admit it.

"Mac ... Duncan ..." Tessa said, truly alarmed now, "Isn't there someone ... Conner maybe ...?"

"I'd ask Kenshin to help me train, but I doubt Kenshin will ever consider me a friend again after this," MacLeod said, with a good deal of self-recrimination in his voice.

"Well, talk to him in the morning. I suspect the guy may surprise you," Tessa said, sensibly.

MacLeod grunted something unintelligible. Tessa rested her head against his arm, knowing no more words were necessary for now -- though she fully intended to talk to Atsuko first thing in the morning. MacLeod slowly stroked her hair, and murmured quietly, "Tess, I love you. What would I do without you?"

--------------------

Late night television babbled inanely from the set in the hospital waiting room. Kenshin sat silently against the wall in one corner of the room, ignoring the chairs and couches, one leg tucked to his chest, the other extended out straight. He stared into space, expression very still. Atsuko glanced up from her magazine at him.

He'd been angry, earlier; she'd seen it the flat cold lavender in his eyes, though his posture had been the same as it was now. The anger had faded and now he was just thinking things through. There was more depth to his eyes, more gentleness there. Eventually, the _thinking _would be replaced with action.

Atsuko's sigh was strictly mental. She hadn't gotten the entire story from him.

She glanced back at the magazine. _Cosmopolitan_. A little voice in the back of her head wondered what would happen if she tried some of the tips in the magazine on Kenshin. _I'll never get a chance to find out, alas. He wouldn't play along. _Though she'd probably get at least a startled _Oroooo! _out of him if she suggested it. And plenty of blushing.

_Ah, why am I even thinking about that with Heather so badly hurt? _She felt a little guilty, and set the magazine aside in favor of a four year old _National Geographic_.

Kenshin rose suddenly, padded to the TV, stared up at it -- he wasn't tall enough to reach the buttons -- then turned the television off by simply unplugging it. For a moment, she thought he was going to return to his wall, but he eyed the spot beside her on the hard, uncomfortable couch.

She patted the couch cushion. "It's more comfortable than the floor, Kenshin."

"_That's _debatable," he grumbled, the first words he'd said since giving the police report. She'd handled the admission questions -- medical history and whatnot. She'd also been the one to call Japan, and had listened to Toshio rant for hours over the "accident" -- the official story was that Kenshin and MacLeod had been practicing swordplay on the pier and Heather had gotten in the way. MacLeod had stuck around long enough to confirm that story for the cops before suddenly disappearing.

Kenshin had remained painfully silent, arms folded, jaw set, eyes gleaming.

Toshio had blamed Kenshin. Loudly, and with considerable anger, and she was sure that Kenshin had overheard at least some of what the man said. And Toshio's fury was ironic, because Kenshin had only seen the very tail end of the fight -- he had said that MacLeod had been about to take Soujiro's head and that Heather had run forward to stop the fight and had gotten in the way when MacLeod swung the sword back. Because MacLeod had been using Kenshin's _sakabatou_, and had apparently forgotten which side was sharp, he'd been holding it correctly, the blunt end towards Soujiro, and he had hit her in the arm with the razor edge.

_I've never understood why Kenshin sharpens that thing, _Atsuko thought, sourly. _It's not likely that he'll ever use the sharp side of the sword._

The fact that Kenshin hadn't been the one holding the sword or even party to the fight didn't stop him from feeling horribly guilty. She knew him well enough to know that at least some of his anger had been directed at himself and not at MacLeod or Soujiro.

As far as Soujiro went, Heather had indisputably saved his life. Mac probably would not have killed him with the first blow, given the way that Kenshin said he was holding the sword, but he would have certainly turned the sword around and tried again.

Kenshin settled onto the couch beside her, arms folded, staring up at the ceiling. He would talk, in a minute. He was working himself up to the point of saying something. She recognized the signs; first he glowered and then he brooded and then he would talk, if she waited long enough.

"Atsuko-chan, it is my fault if Akane dies, that it is."

She could have predicted those words. "I think there is a great deal of shared blame to go around, Kenshin."

Now, she could debate _who _was at fault with him for quite awhile, with Kenshin arguing the point in circles and growing ever more frustrated at her until he stalked out. _That _was not a result she wanted. Anyway, trying to stop Kenshin from feeling guilty was rather like trying to convince fire to burn ice cold. It didn't matter what she told him; hell, it didn't matter if he logically agreed with her points. He'd still brood. It was purely his nature.

He looked down, arms folded, expression dark and closed.

"Kenshin," she said, quietly, "Look at me."

Violet eyes met hers. She brushed his hair back from his cheek. He pulled his head away, caught her hand -- but didn't immediately release her fingers. Instead, he folded his other hand over hers, and met her eyes again. "Atsuko, thank you for coming here."

He was thanking her not for coming to the hospital -- that was a foregone conclusion -- but coming to Seacouver at all. For caring enough, about both Heather and him, to drop her life and _help_.

"You would do the same for me," she said, a simple truth.

"Aa, you know that I would." He released her hand, raked his fingers through his hair, and said in absolute frustration, "Maa, this is the biggest mess I've seen in years. You're right, there's a great deal of blame to pass around, that there is."

"Starting with one really stupid girl," Atsuko said, sourly.

"Soujiro was telling the truth when he said he wasn't trying to rape her," Kenshin said, "That much was obvious just from his voice tone. But MacLeod was equally convinced that he _was _guilty of it. I need to talk to both of them and see if I can't sort this out."

"Maybe Mac found them in a compromising position?" Atsuko suggested.

"I highly doubt it!" Kenshin snorted a laugh that actually held a bit of humor.

Atsuko glanced at him. Kenshin shrugged. _Kenshin reads people's innermost secrets like I read trashy novels -- it's hard to hide anything from him. Sometimes I swear he's psychic ... But why would he find my suggestion funny? ... _ah. Light dawned. She lifted an eyebrow at Kenshin.

Kenshin twitched one shoulder up in a bit of a shrug. He didn't smile now; he was too worried to have more than a brief flash of amusement. "Heather has a crush on him. And Soujiro is many things, but he's not a rapist -- he's not the sort to crave that type of power, that he is not."

"How do you know?"

"Because when Shishio made him an assassin, Soujiro coped by burying his emotions so deeply that even I could not sense them in his _ki_. He could not face what he was doing, otherwise. His nature is _not _that of a power-hungry or evil man; he would rather be peaceful, that he would. His smile, which he shows when others show anger, is a glimpse of what lies at the core of his soul. He has an innate goodness to him; I can feel it deeply buried within what he is now. Also, there is a very great strength to his soul."

Kenshin gave Atsuko a sideways look, violet eyes glancing her way from beneath his bangs. "We are much alike, you know, save that where Soujiro felt nothing for many years, I only had anger in my heartHowever, he finds rage, hatred and fear so very appalling that he did not allow himself to even feel them for a very long time. Atsuko, _both _of us were damaged as children, very badly. All these years and he's still carrying old scars."

_Soujiro isn't the only one who's still hurting. _She reached out brushed his hair back from his face again. This time, he didn't flinch away. He just closed his eyes, pain and grief lining his features. He looked old, suddenly -- old well beyond the perpetual youth of his fine-boned features.

After a moment, she withdrew her hand and said quietly, "The doctors did say they won't know anything until morning and that she'd be sedated for days. Maybe we should go home, Kenshin."

He blinked, looked at her without comment.

"C'mon," she stood up and coaxed him to his feet. He came, reluctantly, moving like he physically hurt. _I can't do a thing for Heather, but Kenshin is exhausted and grieving and needs to sleep. And eat, possibly not in that order. He still hasn't had dinner. _

_Everything looks better in the morning -- even for him, Mister King of the Brooding._

_-------------------_


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

-----------------

Kenshin had always loved the ocean. He sat quietly by the shore next to the pier, gazing out over the harbor. Sea gulls cried in the morning sun; several of them clustered around a dead fish on the rocks a hundred feet away. As long as one didn't look too closely at the color of the harbor water, it was a beautiful setting.

_Maybe when Heather gets out of the hospital I'll take her and Atsuko for a drive up the coast. I have long wished to see Alaska. We could travel all the way to where the roads end and see what we find. _

It had been a long time since he had last wandered just for wandering's sake.

_Seeing the world might be good for Heather. And I would enjoy the time with Atsuko. _

He felt the buzz of another Immortal, and glanced over his shoulder. Soujiro was finding his way across the rocky beach. The other Immortal paused, picked an interesting sea shell up, studied it, then tossed it out into the water. He was stalling, Kenshin thought.

After a moment, Soujiro made his way to Kenshin.

"Hello, Soujiro-san." Kenshin didn't stand up, a deliberate choice. Not a sign of disrespect, rather, he hoped to imply that he trusted Soujiro not to suddenly swing for his head. "Pull up a comfortable rock and join me."

"Why, Kenshin-san?" Soujiro said.

_I'm not that much of a mind reader, Souji-san, that I am not. You're going to need to give me more than that. _"Why what, Soujiro-san?" he prompted.

Soujiro was silent for a moment, then said, "I don't understand you, Kenshin."

"Soujiro-san doesn't understand people very well, does he?" Kenshin pointed out.

Soujiro gave Kenshin a brief smile, telling Kenshin he'd scored. He'd meant to. "I find people strange and often baffling."

"One must understand oneself to understand others," Kenshin said, serenely.

"I do not even understand why I am here, talking to you, today." Soujiro regarded Kenshin thoughtfully. "Perhaps it is merely curiosity."

"You've changed much from the boy you were, that you most certainly have." Kenshin said, quietly. "But your journey is far from done." Kenshin hesitated, then added, "I -- talked to the others about you, a bit -- spoke to some of Shishio's men. Sano and I both tried to find you, that we did. Several times. I always wondered what became of you."

"I wish you had found me," Soujiro admitted. He sat down next to Kenshin, a few feet separating them. The smile faded. "My life might have been a lot different had I you to look up to. I do not understand you, Kenshin, I never have. But I see how others regard you. Might I have been something like your friends, do you suppose, if I had known you as an ally and not an enemy?"

"Perhaps. I do not know. Have you really killed as many Immortals as they say?" Kenshin asked, quietly.

"It's the Game, Kenshin." Soujiro-san shrugged. "You should know that."

"I think the Game is an abomination." Kenshin threw a rock at the water, hard.

"If you don't play, someone will eventually take your head." Soujiro warned. "You cannot deny that."

"Soujiro-san, I've lived a long time, that I have. I'm at peace with what may come in my life. I do not wish to die, but nor will I not violate my deepest beliefs to prevent my own death. And even if I do play, someone would eventually take my head."

"You could live for thousands of years," Soujiro pointed out. "Don't you want that?"

"_That _is a bittersweet thought, that it is." Kenshin sighed, eyes gone distant for just a moment. "In a thousand years, will I remember Kaoru?"

"Why do you care for them so much?" Soujiro asked, sounding truly puzzled. "They'll be gone in such a short amount of time compared to the lives that we can live."

Kenshin blinked and glanced at the other Immortal. "Soujiro," he said, patiently, "The average human lifespan is seventy to eighty years. Time doesn't pass any faster for us -- it just passes for a longer period, that it does. I will cherish my friends while they live, and live on when they have passed."

Soujiro shook his head, "They're not _like _us."

"We are men, Soujiro, nothing more." Kenshin shook his head, then ran a hand through his bangs, shoving them back from his face. "It is a dangerous thing to think you are better than a mortal, that it is. It is dangerous even to think that you are _different_."

"Kenshin, do you believe me when I say I wasn't trying to hurt Heather?" Soujiro asked, somewhat plaintively.

"That I do."

"Why? I don't understand why you'd believe me. You're a fool to trust me."

"I've been a fool before in my life," Kenshin said, mildly, provoking a snort of laughter from Soujiro.

"_You? _I don't believe that of you."

"Surely I have. Just go back in time and ask Hiko Seijuro the 13th." Kenshin closed his eyes. A cool breeze blew off the water, ruffling his hair and whispering across his cheeks. He could hear the distant chug of a boat motor, and smelled seaweed and the promise of rain later.

He paused and added, "I've been a fool over serious things, too, Souji-san. Kaoru would probably call me a fool for waiting as long as I did to propose to her. Kaoru was my wife -- I don't believe you ever met her." Kenshin paused, glanced at Soujiro, and grinned, and confessed, "And she'd be right, but that's another story."

"I've never loved anyone," Soujiro said, somethingthat surprised Kenshin -- not that Soujiro had never loved so much as that he recognized that absence. "After the battle, I thought I might find someone to love ... but it never came to me. That feeling."

_A century and three decades is a long time for introspective thought, I suppose_, Kenshin thought.

"I'm not sure that I can," Soujiro added.

"Aa." Kenshin said, quietly. _I don't know exactly what happened, but I do know he never knew love himself. Maybe he never has, since, either._ "You have to allow yourself to be vulnerable to do so. Loving someone means _trusting _them, Souji-san. When you love someone, you're vulnerable. You give them the power to break your heart when you give them love."

"Is it even worth it?"

"Aa. It is." Kenshin said. "For all the pain, for all the grief, I'd do it again in a heartbeat ... when Kaoru died, I thought I should die too, but truly, I would not trade the pain at her death for the joy of her life with me. That I would ... not." He fell silent, eyes closing again, but he was no longer aware of the cool breeze and the cry of seagulls.

"Kenshin-san?" Soujiro said, after Kenshin hadn't said anything for a couple of moments.

Kenshin blinked, jumped a little. "Forgive me for my wandering attention ... I just realized something very important, that I did."

"Must've been pretty heavy. You weren't home for a moment there." Soujiro said, sounding mildly amused. "You know that I could have taken your head and you wouldn't have seen it coming."

"You wouldn't take my head," Kenshin said, calm confidence in his voice. He reached a hand under his jacket and pulled his _sakabatou _out somewhat awkwardly -- it was difficult to draw when he was seated on the tail of his long coat.

Soujiro went tense, instinctively, a grin flashing onto his face.

Kenshin gravely offered him the sword.

"You _are _a fool." Soujiro took the sword, stood up. He held it backwards, sharp edge in play.

Kenshin remained sitting. His eyes were closed and his face turned towards the wind. "If you decide to kill me, please make sure you make it a clean cut."

"Your faith in me is a bit excessive, I do believe," Soujiro pulled the sword back for the swing. "I'm not going to turn down a head freely offered."

"You would break Heather's heart," Kenshin said, as Soujiro swung.

The sword connected with Kenshin's neck -- but not with killing force. Soujiro staggered back, dropping the sword. He hadn't completely been able to stop the blow entirely, even though he'd tried.

Kenshin didn't even flinch. He sat very still, eyes closed, blood streaming down his neck. "I said make it clean, Soujiro. You do know how to do that?"

"_No_." Soujiro whispered.

Kenshin opened his eyes, and touched the cut, which was already sealing itself. All things considered it was rather minor; he'd had a far worse injuries in the last few days. With a flash of light, the gash disappeared.

"I could have _killed _you. _Why? Why _would you let me?"

Kenshin stood up, picked his _sakabatou_ up from where Soujiro had dropped it, sheathed it, and said quietly, "I knew you wouldn't."

"_Why_? I don't understand!" This was almost a wail.

"Because you needed to know I trusted you," Kenshin said, quietly. "And in order for you to trust me, I had to _give _you my trust."

"You are insane, Kenshin." Soujiro eyed him suspiciously. "You can't trust another Immortal. Not so long as we're playing the Game."

"I refuse to play." Kenshin looked up at Soujiro, noting the real dismay showing in his eyes."You once told me that the strong shall win and the weak shall lose. But that implies a prize and what if the _prize isn't worth winning_?"

Soujiro swallowed hard and looked away.

"How many people have you murdered, Souji-san?" Kenshin's voice was harsh, now. Anger -- not at Soujiro, but scary amber-eyed anger all the same -- glinted in his eyes. "Was it _worth_ it? Some of those people were good, decent, honest men and women. They had friends and family and lovers and dreams and lives they were living. And you cut them down."

Soujiro smiled, and said, "But that is the nature of what we are."

"It _doesn't have to be_ that way," Kenshin's balled his fists and took another step towards Soujiro. "I want you to think about something -- how would you feel if Heather died?"

"Horrible." Soujiro swallowed hard. No smile. His eyes were wide, and somehow very scared and incredibly vulnerable. He hugged himself. Somewhat nonsensically, he said, "Damnit, Kenshin," and paused, and then said, plaintively, "I don't _understand_."

"You did that to other people. There are people mourning their loved ones. _Because of you_." Kenshin made a short, sharp gesture with one hand. "You don't even _know _her, but you care about her and it would break your heart if she died, wouldn't it? _Why _do you care about her so much?"

"She would have died if I had not jumped into the water ..." Soujiro whispered. "I ... how can I not care about her after saving her life?"

"Aa." Kenshin agreed, "Every time you murder another Immortal, you may hurt the hearts of many people who _aren't _in the Game. Is the prize worth that?"

"I don't ... I don't want to be killed." Soujiro whispered quietly.

The gleam faded from Kenshin's eyes. He said quietly, "_Neither do I, _but death is not an end, Souji-san. It's merely part of the journey. Think about _that._"

"I'm not sure I believe in a divine power," Soujiro whispered. "If there is one, it's never been there for me. _Nobody _has ever been there for me."

Kenshin snorted. "I'm not sure what I believe, but -- go take a good hard look at Richie Ryan. Look at his _ki_. Tell me you don't believe in reincarnation after you do that. Kid's got a soul older than Methos."

"Methos is a myth."

"It's an analogy, Soujiro, that it is," Kenshin said, with patient forbearance. His anger had completely faded. "Soujiro, do you see what I'm saying?"

"You never ask easy questions, Kenshin-san," Soujiro complained.

"Soujiro," Kenshin said, "Why do you care about Heather?"

"I ..." Soujiro swallowed. "You already asked me that."

"I ask it again, because I do not believe that your first answer was complete. You told me once that Shishio taught you that the strong shall live and the weak shall die. You did not let her die, yet she was weak. _Why_?"

"Because ..." Soujiro suddenly turned away from Kenshin, staring out across the water. In a choked voice he said, "_What good is my strength if I cannot _help _the weak_? What point is there to being strong if I do not use that strength for something good?"

"You understand, now." Kenshin's voice was very soft, very gentle. "That you do."

"I don't understand at _all_," Soujiro shook his head. "Damn you, Kenshin Himura. You never make things easy or simple."

"That," Kenshin said, with a ghost of amusement touching his words, "Is generally the way of things. Neither easy or simple. I can't give you the answers I know you want, Soujiro. But I can make a suggestion."

"Which is?" Soujiro was still not looking at Kenshin. His voice was thick, suspiciously so.

"My niece is weak. She could use a strong friend to look out for her, to guide her. She needs somebody she looks up to, whose opinion matters to her. Right now, that's _not _going to be me. You have that strength within you, Soujiro. I am sure of it."

Soujiro gave Kenshin a startled look. Tear tracks lined his face, and his eyes grew wide. "You would trust me?"

"I already do."

"I couldn't possibly be worse than Shark." Soujiro snorted, sudden amusement touching his eyes.

"This is very much true," Kenshin smiled suddenly, an expression that was genuinely matched, with honest feeling, by Soujiro. "Come on, my friend. I am sure Heather will be glad to see both of us."

------------------


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

---------------

Author's Notes: I am actually a bit nervous about posting this last chapter.When I started this story, I had a different ending planned. However, the characters had other ideas ... Atsuko demanded this. Really. And she's very hard to ignore.

I think the ending works, but I'm sure not everyone will approve. Ah well. I like it ...

One more chapter to go.

---------------

Kenshin realized as he stepped off the elevator that there was another Immortal in the hospital. Soujiro, behind him, tensed and stopped short. "MacLeod's here."

"Or it's someone completely unrelated, that it is." Kenshin said, hooking his fingers behind Soujiro's elbow and giving him a bit of a tug to move him along. "Let's find out. I don't know about you, but I _do _like knowing who the other Immortals are in my area."

As it turned out, the other Immortal was in the room with Heather -- and it _was _MacLeod. Mac emerged from the room as they approached, looking remarkably hostile.

"Kenshin." He didn't even acknowledge Soujiro.

"MacLeod-san," Kenshin said, politely. MacLeod didn't correct him and tell him _Call me Mac_, which told Kenshin that MacLeod was, indeed, pissed off.

"What's he doing here?" MacLeod glared.

"You were wrong about Seta-san, that you were," Kenshin said. Soujiro seemed to be smart enough to keep his mouth shut, so Kenshin continued, "Heather was about to jump off the pier, or fall. She was on something. Soujiro tackled her to keep her from leaping. That's all you saw. He was not trying to violate her."

MacLeod blinked. Frowned. Kenshin guessed he was mentally replaying what he had seen. Then he said, "That doesn't excuse him from all the people he's killed, Kenshin. Stay out of this. This is between me and Soujiro."

_Stubborn, judgmental old man. You don't like admitting mistakes, do you? _Kenshin thought, with irritation he didn't allow onto his face.

Soujiro finally spoke up, "I don't understand, MacLeod. You will lose if we fight again; I will not make the same mistake twice. And I no longer wish to fight you."

MacLeod growled, "I'd beg to differ on the assumption that you will win."

Kenshin rested a hand on Soujiro's arm, "This is not the place for this discussion, MacLeod. I will talk to you later. In the interim, if you challenge Soujiro and survive, you will face _me _next."

"You won't kill me, Kenshin. That's a pretty empty threat," MacLeod said, dismissively.

Soujiro had a bit of a smile on his face and it held real humor. He said,"I wouldn't assume that, MacLeod-san. Kenshin doesn't take your head, he just _screws _with it."

"Only if necessary," Kenshin responded, glancing at Soujiro. Soujiro met his look, grinned, shrugged, and then walked past MacLeod and into the hospital room.

"You're just going to ..." MacLeod spluttered. "Shouldn't we stop him?"

"MacLeod," Kenshin said, very seriously, "You will not be fighting Soujiro."

"He's a monster!" MacLeod glowered. "My friend in the Watchers -- he gave me some numbers this morning, and some names. That man has murdered hundreds. I knew some of them. He killed _friends_ of mine. I never even knew who the bastard was that did it, in some cases, just that they had died."

"You don't have to like him," Kenshin said, quietly. "How many people have you killed in your life, MacLeod?"

Mac folded his arms. "None who didn't have it coming."

"By your judgment. I've seen quite good evidence of your lack of good judgment just yesterday -- at the very least, you should get all the facts before executing someone. You just assumed the worst and tried to murder him. He didn't even commit the crime you were accusing him of. Kenshin's expression darkened briefly. "_Had _he done what you were accusing him of, I would ensure that it would be the last time he could do that to a woman."

"This isn't about me." MacLeod pointed an angry finger at the hospital room. He hissed, very low, "It's about him. He's a monster! I do not take a head unless it is deserved!"

"Let's see ... What about mortals killed during wars? We've both been soldiers, MacLeod." Kenshin closed his eyes, for a moment. "I was an assassin. I've killed _children_. That makes me a monster too. I cannot pass judgment on Seta without also passing judgment on myself."

"I don't believe you killed children. _You?_" MacLeod blinked.

Kenshin said, very quietly, "Aa. Yes. There was a man -- a Westerner, sent as a diplomat from somewhere, I don't know where, during the revolution. His name was Dr. Adam Pierson -- I still remember it, to this day. I was sent to kill him. He had two boys; they came at me with swords drawn. I cut them down. They would have killed me, otherwise. They were maybe nine and ten. _Children_. I was sixteen years old. Killing the kids was not part of my mission, but it became necessary.

"MacLeod-san, I have a thousand stories like that one," Kenshin said, arms folded, eyes gone distant and flat.

"If you're trying to shock me, Kenshin, it's not working. I know damn well what war's like. He's _not _in a war."

Kenshin glanced towards the room. "I was talking to Soujiro, on the way over here. He told me a little about his early life. He killed his entire family when he was eight."

"Doesn't surprise me," MacLeod said, cynically.

"They were trying to kill him. And _nobody _was there to help him. He was all alone. Even after, nobody was there for him. He's had to stand on his own in a vicious world his entire life."

"Doesn't make what he's done right." MacLeod glared down at Kenshin. "And and what he's likely to do in the future."

"Soujiro was an assassin too, MacLeod, just like I was. But where at least I worked for a cause I truly believed in, Souji-san worked for an evil, manipulative man named Shishio who was plotting overthrow of the government. For Soujiro, in some ways, the war has never ended. He just found a new enemy."

"And how many more people is he going to _assassinate_?" MacLeod said. "You're a fool, Himura. A complete fool."

"Aa." Kenshin agreed. "But I'm not wrong about this decision. _Look_."

Soujiro could surely hear them, but he was ignoring them. Kenshin stepped into the room, where he was unsurprised to find Soujiro seated beside the bed, Heather's good hand in his, head bowed. Heather was snoring thickly; she was a tiny, frail figure under the blankets.

Soujiro glanced up, and said quietly, "I'm done, MacLeod. Kenshin's right. There's a hell of a lot I don't understand, but I think I've figured out that the prize just isn't worth winning."

MacLeod said, sounding supremely disgusted, "Okay, you're _both _idiots, then."

_He doesn't believe Soujiro, _Kenshin knew. He wasn't sure what MacLeod was going to do about it, however.

After he'd stalked off, Soujiro said with some concern, "Wasn't he your friend, Kenshin-san? And thank you for standing up for me -- I was not expecting that."

"Aa. He was a friend. And perhaps he still is." Kenshin sighed. "He's a good man, Soujiro. That he is. I'll try talk to him again tonight. I do not want to fight with him and I do not want to lose either of you if you fight."

"_Lose _me?" Soujiro blinked at Kenshin.

Kenshin simply shrugged.

Soujiro frowned at him, "I do not understand you, Kenshin. But I think I like you."

"I am pleased that you like me, that I am.," Kenshin met his eyes for a moment, then they sat in silence for a long moment. Heather's morphine-drugged snores were the only sounds breaking the quiet.

Kenshin asked, after some time of silence, "Do you want to stay with her? Someone should be here when she wakes."

"Yes, I'll stay. But don't you ...?"

"Atsuko will be by in a few hours. If Heather wakes, it may not be a bad thing for you two to be here alone. I think you have a few things to talk about with her, that you do."

Soujiro gave him a shy smile. "Perhaps."

"May I give a word of advice?"

"I'm listening."

"Don't trust her yet. Let her earn your trust."

"Yeah, I was planning on that. I'm not that clueless, Kenshin-san." Soujiro sighed. "I'll be her friend; I'm not interested in anything more right now. Just -- a friend."

-----------------

Atsuko arrived at the hospital an hour or so after Kenshin left; she'd been on a conference call for a long while with her bosses and a couple journalists, discussing her next assignment. The real world was calling her back -- she had a career and an employer that couldn't be neglected forever. _Africa, again, it sounds like._

The assignment started in three weeks. She'd have to leave here in two and meet the rest of the crew in London where they would catch a series of flights to their destination.

It was a juicy assignment. She was looking forward to it because she knew there were many stories that truly needed to be told -- realities that the world needed to be made aware of.

The crew she was going with was top-notch; one of the journalists had won a Pulitzer.

_And I'll part ways with Kenshin again. Damnit. I'm going to miss him. _

"Atsuko," Soujiro said, as she entered. "Good evening."

"Hello, Souji-san," Atsuko said, "Heather."

Heather was awake, finally; she smiled at Atsuko. "Aunt Atsuko. You came!"

"Of course I came," Atsuko said, with some irritation at Heather's surprise. What, did the kid think she wouldn't come? "How are you feeling?"

"My arm hurts," Heather had a distinct whine in her voice that set Atsuko's teeth on edge. _She really does hurt, _Atsuko told herself firmly, _Don't get on her case right now._

"I expect that is a side effect of having it nearly cut off, Akane," Soujiro drawled.

Heather glared at him. He shrugged and smiled, then said to Atsuko, "Does she always complain this much?"

"I'm not complaining!"

"Yes you are!" Soujiro and Atsuko said, simultaneously.

Heather started to protest, then shot Soujiro a sharp look, shut her mouth, and said, "Sorry."

_Oh-hoh! _Atsuko thought, with sudden realization. _Heather gets away with crap with us because she knows we'll put up with it. Kenshin never even raises his voice with her. She takes advantage of that, quite a bit -- that stunt with his money, for example. She _knows _we love her and neither of us have the stomach to be as hard on her as she really deserves._

_But Soujiro's different. Unless I miss my guess, Soujiro is going to be completely unwilling to let her walk all over him. If she wants Souji as a friend? She has to behave herself. _

Judging by the looks that Heather was giving the man -- quick, covert, _interested_, glances -- she _wanted _him as that friend.

_The question will be, will she want him more than the drugs?_

Atsuko had no idea if Heather could rise to that challenge. _I'd have said not likely even a few weeks ago. Maybe she's hit rock bottom, though. Nearly getting killed twice in a week ought to make an impression even on someone as stupid as Heather can be._

Soujiro said mildly, "We were talking, Atsuko -- when Akane gets out of here, I've got a house in San Francisco. I've lived there for several decades. She's welcome to come visit for awhile."

Heather -- or Akane, Atsuko noted she wasn't correcting Soujiro's use of her real name -- smiled faintly. "I've got too many friends here who are into the scene. I think I want to go away from here. It'd be better for me." _Drug scene, _Atsuko mentally translated. "I'm going to get away from that. I promise, Aunt Atsuko. I _promise_ I'm going to get better."

"Huh. Souji-san, it might be a good idea for your to avoid MacLeod for awhile, too," Atsuko said, to Soujiro. She wasn't sure she believed Heather's promise -- Heather _meant _it, but she figured things might look different to her later. Only time would tell on that score.

_On the other hand, Soujiro's nobody's fool. If he's lived in San Francisco for decades, I'm sure he knows all about druggies. _Atsuko had spent a few weeks in San Francisco on assignment two years previously; the town had left an indelible impression on her that was best summed up as, "_Interesting place." _

"Soujiro knows some Hollywood people," Heather said, sounding brighter, happier, than she had a moment before.

_If she says he's going to make her a star, I'll strangle Soujiro myself. More than once._

"He says he might be able to get me work under a set designer he knows," Heather glanced at Soujiro, who smiled at her. "You're not upset that I'm going to leave with him, are you?"

"No, kiddo, not at all," Atsuko said. "I wish you two luck, you know."

"I'm gonna need it," Heather said, with a groan.

"Not luck," Soujiro said, quietly. "My luck? It's _always _bad. Anything I've succeeded at in life, it's because I've worked at it."

"Wise man," Atsuko grinned.

Soujiro gave Heather a long, thoughtful look. "I'd much prefer to trust success that comes from hard work versus that which comes from random chance."

----------------

Later that evening, Atsuko arrived home with an armful of groceries and books. The books were from the local library and the stack was thinner than she would have liked.

_Research tonight, _she thought. They were sending her to a rather remote area of Africa; a bit of study on the local culture, history, and politics was generally a good idea. _Damnit, I want to go -- somebody needs to spread the word about the famine there, and the horrible war crimes -- but I don't want to leave. I'm so enjoying this time with Kenshin. And if Akane goes to San Francisco with Souji-san when she gets out of the hospital, I might actually end up with a little bit of time _alone _with Kenshin._

She opened the door, and Kenshin looked up from his laptop on the kitchen table and said cheerfully, "Good evening, Atsuko."

"Hey, Kenshin. I got fish for dinner. They had a sale on salmon."

"Want me to cook it?"

"Nah, I'll get it." Kenshin cooked wonderfully, better than almost anyone she knew, but broiled salmon was simple and he looked busy.

He'd been home for some time, she thought; he had on an old , comfortable _gi_ -- the one he often wore to bed, when he actually _went _to bed rather than sleeping against the wall -- and his hair was hanging loose, a wild, wavy, hard-to-tame mass._ He had a workout, then a shower, _she thought, taking in his appearance. _I hope he took the time to soak in a hot bath or he'll be hurting in the morning. And the workout may well have been because he's frustrated._

Kenshin asked, "How is Heather doing?"

"She seems to be in remarkably good spirits. Soujiro said he'd stay with her until visiting hours were over." Atsuko regarded him thoughtfully. Kenshin looked tired despite the three quarters empty cup of coffee on the table beside his computer. She picked the mug up, felt the temperature and established it was ice cold, and said, "Want more coffee?"

"Thank you, yes. I have not read my messages in several days and I am afraid answering them all may take some time." Kenshin gathered his long hair up in one fist and retrieved a leather thong from his pocket; he tied it back, somewhat to her regret. Kenshin with his hair down was always of the good, but he seemed to feel it was a state of semi-undress, like walking around without a shirt. Convincing him to wear his hair loose and long was impossible; she'd tried.

_And if he ever cuts that hair, half the women in Tokyo -- and a certain percentage of the men -- will go into mourning, _Atsuko thought, with some personal amusement.

"How many e-mails are from Toshio?" Atsuko said, with a good bit of snark in her voice. She walked into the kitchen, found half a pot of coffee in the machine, sampled it to verify that it hadn't gotten too bitter, and then poured both Kenshin and herself full cups.

"Many." He kept typing. "Mostly unpleasant."

"He's such a charming man."

"I do not react well to threats." Kenshin said, leaving her to wonder exactly _what _Toshio had said in his latest round of e-mails. On the whole, she decided she didn't want to know -- Kenshin could handle Toshio, and had on multiple occasions in the past.

Kenshin sipped the new cup of black coffee she handed him, then regarded her for a long, silent moment while she added cream and sugar to hers.

"What?" she said, finally, after trying hard for a moment to pretend he wasn't staring at her.

"Maa, it is nothing." He turned his attention back to the laptop.

"It's something, Kenshin."

"I am being rude. I apologize." Kenshin wouldn't meet her eyes now.

_Hmm. Something's up with him. _Atsuko claimed the chair opposite Kenshin, made an educated guess as to what was bugging him, and said, "Heather's going to be _okay_, Kenshin."

"She'll have a bad scar." Kenshin sighed. However, it was more of an sad sigh than a guilt-ridden sigh, so she didn't think Heather's injury was the reason why he was acting oddly. Still, a bit of guilt-intervention might be called for, since this was Kenshin, and Kenshin had guilt perfected to a fine art.

"I seem to know a certain samurai who has so many old injuries that he can barely move in the morning until he's had a hot shower," Atsuko said, pointedly. She sipped her coffee. "And that certain samurai does very well and doesn't consider himself crippled or disfigured. Kenshin, the doctors will do a good job at patching her up. Life will go on. I figure she's responsible for what happened, anyway, given what actually happened. I don't feel all that sorry for her. She rather caused a mess."

Kenshin sighed. "I'm not so much worried about her arm itself as what effect it may have on her. That was very traumatic, that it was, and she already does not deal with unpleasant things well."

"Actually, I have more hope for her than I ever have had before," Atsuko said, after a moment. "Because _she _has hope. I talked to her a bit. She's sounding brighter than she has in since we got here."

"Maa, maa, that's good," Kenshin put the laptop to sleep with a firm tap of the off button. He added, changing the subject, "I went by MacLeod's place before coming home."

"Are you guys good now?" Atsuko said, with some concern.

Kenshin stood up, and walked to the sliding glass doors. "Nobody was home. I'll try again in the morning. I want to talk to him, both because I want him to know I still consider him a friend and because he needs to know what really happened. I don't like leaving these differences between us up in the air. Atsuko, he's a good man -- I'd like to consider him a friend."

She followed him across the apartment. It was raining hard outside; they stood watching the weather for a moment in companionable silence. Or -- at least she watched the rain. Abruptly, she became aware that a pair of violet eyes were regarding her, and not the storm, with a most intent expression.

"What's wrong, Kenshin?" She repeated, surer now that something was bothering him.

"Oro, it is nothing." One minute he'd been looking at her with his brow furrowed; the next he wouldn't meet her eyes at all.

"It is _not _nothing. What, are you about to proposition me or something? 'Cause if you are, you know I'd say yes."

She was _trying _to lighten the mood. Kenshin blushed, which she'd expected. She also anticipated his embarrassed, "Orooo, Atsuko!"

In perfect timing with him, she mimicked, "_Orooo, Atsuko!" _

He glared. It was a very good imitation; she had always been talented at doing voices. There was, however, a good deal of amusement in that glare; his eyes were trying to smile.

She grinned. "C'mon, Kenshin, you know I'm only kidding. You're gorgeous, which you _well _know, but you're my best friend. I know how it is with you and I understand."

"Do you?" His words were so soft she almost didn't hear them. He looked up at her, violet eyes searching her face. She'd never seen quite this particular expression on his face -- almost _yearning_, but with hints of fear to it. "Do you really know what's in my heart?"

"'Course, if you ever wanted to jump in bed with me, I sure wouldn't say no." Unsettled by that look she crossed her arms and said, "What is with you, Kenshin? You're acting rather weird."

He looked away suddenly, swallowed hard, then folded his arms and stared out at the rain. "It is nothing."

"_Not _nothing," Impulsively, she rested a hand on his shoulder and tugged until he turned back to face her. "Did I say something to upset you? If I did, I'm _sorry. _You know I'm not serious about the bed thing._ " _

Far too quickly, he replied, "It is nothing you did. I am sorry if you thought so."

"_Baka _Kenshin," she scolded. "I can read you like a book. Since you're not telling me what it is bothering it's likely something to do with me. And I'm sorry for whatever I did, but I can't fix it unless you tell me what it is."

He almost flinched at her words. "Maa, Atsuko, you worry too much. You haven't done anything. I, on the other hand, _have _been a complete and utter fool." Violet eyes searched her face. He added, with quite a bit of self-recrimination, "And I am also a coward."

"Never!" She denied this strongly. "You're the bravest man I know."

"Not in everything, that I am not."

"Will you just spit out what it is that is bothering you already?" She rested her hands on his shoulders and gave him a little shake. "I'm starting to get mad here."

"Heaven forbid that Atsuko be angry at this unworthy one," Kenshin said, with some amusement. "This has never happened before, it has not." Then the smile slipped from his face and was replaced again with that odd, serious expression. To her utter surprise he stepped closer to her and wrapped his arms around her and just _held _her, hugging her to him. "You're right. I've been such a fool, Atsuko."

Kenshin-hugs were rare things, given far more often (but rarely still) to the children than to any adults in his life. The man didn't really like to be touched, and in truth she was astonished by the gesture. Hesitantly, she said, "Kenshin?"

"Such a fool," he repeated, very quietly, a whisper next to her ear.

Belatedly, she realized she should probably hug him back, and did, tightening her arms around him. He was hard-muscled, but so very thin; the top of his head was just below the level of her nose. His hair smelled of shampoo and was still a little damp from his recent shower. And his closeness was doing pleasant things to the pit of her stomach -- albeit frustrating ones, because Kenshin wasn't ever going to be anything but a friend.

So she was surprised when he whispered a confession softly, in a tone of voice that startled her with its low, urgent intensity, "Atsuko, I _love _you."

"What?" She let go of him.

He folded his arms, hands disappearing into the sleeves of his _gi_. He wouldn't meet her eyes again, and stared down at his feet. Quickly, too quickly really, he said, "I am sorry if I upset you."

"No, I mean, I never expected to hear you say those words to me," she stared at him, truly shocked by the admission. Her mind was going in somewhat incoherent circles. _Did he really just say that? In _that _tone of voice? _

"Atsuko," Kenshin finally looked up at her. "I've been such a fool."

"Well, yeah, maybe, if it's anything to do with your love life." That provoked a brief smile from him but she still eyed him suspiciously. Atsuko wasn't entirely sure she _wanted _to hear what she now suspected he was going to say. _I don't want to lose the friendship we have. This could change everything! _"Kenshin, I'm no Kaoru. I'm rude and obnoxious and I tease to the point of offending people sometimes. I've got horrible manners and I'm far too forward and I'm far too quick to speak my mind and I ..."

Kenshin said, "Atsuko, you'd probably explode if you tried to keep your mouth shut for more than five minutes at a stretch. And then I'd have to find a new best friend. So on the whole, I'd appreciate it if you don't change. I like -- _love _-- you just the way you are."

She snorted a laugh at his dry tone. The banter was welcome; it was a familiar pattern in their relationship -- a relationship that he'd just completely turned upside down.

_Do I want this? Really? _

He looked up at her, violet eyes gleaming with emotions that shivered her to her core. He'd never looked at her like that before. It was as if his whole soul was focused on her, to the exclusion of everyone and everything else. It was an intimate look, one that promised many things. "I realized something, Atsuko -- for all that it hurt when Kaoru died, I would do it all again. It was _worth _the pain at the end for all those decades together."

He stopped talking and she waited, while he was quiet for a moment, recognizing that he was gathering his thoughts together. Finally, he said, "There was so much joy, so much happiness, during those many years, that there was. We had a good life together -- more than this unworthy one ever deserved, truth told. I grieved, and still have grief, but it was _worth _it."

Violet eyes searched her face and smiled faintly. "And I realized something else -- I will grieve for _you_, greatly, someday. I know this. I accept it. I cannot avoid it, nor do I wish to."

She swallowed and said nothing. It was so unexpected that she literally couldn't come up with anything to say.

"Atsuko, I want to experience that sort of joy with _you_. I am doing us both a disservice, I believe, by walling my heart off from ever loving again. What I do _not _want is to grieve for you someday without ever having experiencing the joy that I think we could have."

She thought that his next words, said in a thoughtful tone, were as much directed as himself as her, "I am not replacing Kaoru with you. I am simply moving on. Perhaps it is time."

"Some would say long past time!" Atsuko said. Her thoughts were still awhirl; the comment popped out by pure reflex.

His eyes danced with amusement. "You remind me I'm human and let me be myself when I'm with you. I treasure you, Atsuko, I truly do."

"You jerk, you could have figured that out years ago. And ..." The beginnings of a good rant were aborted when she saw the look in his eyes. It was frank amusement, at her expense, probably because he had anticipated the annoyed anger. She accused, "You're enjoying this, Kenshin."

"Well, yes," he admitted, lips twitching in what promised to turn into laugh with very little prompting. "It is rare that I see you this off balance. I _have _wondered how you would react if I ever said 'yes' to you. This is, by the way, an yes."

_That _completely stopped all thought and rendered her completely speechless. Had he just implied what she thought he'd implied? By the look in his eyes -- vastly amused now -- it had been."Kenshin?"

_Oh, god. _Her body thrilled at the thought, hormones chiming in with a strong vote for, _Jump his bones right now because he said _yes!

All she could seem to do was stare at him, though. The amusement faded and was replaced with something resembling fear. He hugged himself, doubt creeping into his eyes. He'd probably _expected _a reaction from her other than dumb shock.

_Like maybe a kiss? A kiss would be good. _She couldn't move, couldn't bring herself to make the first step. _One _of them was going to have to, and by the look on his face, he was had as many butterflies over the idea as she did.

"Maaa. Perhaps I should give you time to think. I am sorry if this was perhaps an unwelcome advance ... I know that I took great pains to make you believe we would never be but friends. I thought it for the best." He hesitated. "I'm sorry ... I have done you wrong, I think."

_Oh, no. He's going to start apologizing now. Moron. Apologies I do _not _want to hear right now!_

"If you give me time to think," Atsuko said, very clearly, "I'll probably panic and run gibbering back to Tokyo. Because I never thought you _would _say 'yes' in a romantic proposition sense and oh-my-God, Kenshin, one of us _really_ has to make a move right now before we _both _grow old. This _not _unwanted, trust me, you idiot, and I think a kiss would be traditional right about now."

He laughed, relief lighting his eyes. "I didn't think it would be unwelcome, but ..."

"Shut up, Kenshin, and kiss me. You _do _remember how to kiss a woman, right? It hasn't been so long that you've entirely forgotten?"

He stopped laughing, and he looked at her from beneath his bangs with amber-eyed expression that completely took her breath away. Kenshin reached out, rested his hands on her hips, pulled her close, and said, "I'm going to take that as a challenge, Atsuko. That I am."

And that night he proved he did know how to kiss with great skill, among other things.

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	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

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Author's Notes:

I was mulling over how to write this chapter and "Dust in the Wind" by Queen came on the radio. The Highlander fans know why this is a bit freaky. ;)

This is the final chapter. All done. THANK GOD!!!! DONE DONE DONE! Mouse does a happy dance before collapsing in exhaustion

Thanks to everyone for all the wonderful feedback; it really does mean a great deal. I've written fanfic under a couple different handles and I've never gotten this much feedback before -- so far, the amount of reviews on this story is five times greater than anything I've ever written before. The last story I posted under another handle had NO reviews. It's quite a bit of a pleasant shock. ;-)

----------------

Tessa looked up when the shop's front door opened, and grinned when she saw who had entered. "Atsuko! Kenshin!"

"Tessa!" Atsuko said, with enthusiasm. Tessa noted that Atsuko looked to be in an exceptionally good mood, matching her own happiness. Atsuko was almost bouncing as she walked. Kenshin, behind her, had his hands in his pocket and an odd smile on his face. "Good morning!"

"Hey, good to see you! I was worried you wouldn't be coming around. MacLeod's kinda being an idiot, I'm sorry Kenshin." Tessa stepped around the counter, glanced at the single customer -- who seemed to be fascinated by a sword in a case at the back of the shop -- and then said, "You're not going to believe what MacLeod did last night!"

"Yeah? What did he do?" Atsuko asked.

"He proposed to me! Fourteen years and he finally did it!"

"Congratulations," Kenshin said, smile growing broader.

"Wow! That's amazing!" Atsuko hugged her impulsively. "That's just amazing! What prompted that?"

"I have no idea!" Tessa laughed. She didn't, really, and she was reasonably sure it had been purely impulsive since no ring had been involved -- but she wasn't complaining. "Guys, I'm so happy!"

"I'll bet!" Atsuko hugged her again. "My goodness, that wasn't news I was expecting!"

"I'm going to invite you two to the wedding, of course," Tessa said, grinning. Then she remembered the bit of information that Atsuko had given her a few days earlier, and the sad look in Atsuko's eyes when she'd said Kenshin wasn't interested in a relationship with her. "You and Kenshin -- not as a couple, I know you're not that ... do you have someone else you each want to bring?"

Atsuko, to Tessa's amusement, said smugly, "Ohhhh, as of last night, you can invite us as a couple."

"Oroooooo, Atsuko!" Kenshin protested, turning a very interesting shade of scarlet from his hairline clear down to the collar of his t-shirt.

Tessa blinked and regarded Atsuko, who was grinning and _not _blushing, and Kenshin, who looked like he didn't know whether to hysterically giggle or flee. "No! Really?"

"Oh, yes." Atsuko laughed. "And yes, and yes, and yes." The woman's grin grew broader.

Kenshin protested, loudly and indignantly, "Atsuko!"

Atsuko continued, still grinning, and obviously delighting in harassing him, "Emphatically. And, uh, thoroughly. I don't know what prompted the change of heart, but trust me, I'm not complaining." Atsuko said, giving Kenshin a fond grin that he met with a glare -- he was still blushing furiously -- before saying, "Tess, can you get away from here a bit for coffee and gossip?"

"No, afraid not. Richie and MacLeod are off running errands. I've got the shop." Tessa sighed. "I'd love to talk to you two but I'll have to take a rain check on it."

"Damn." Atsuko sighed dramatically.

"Why don't we get together tomorrow night?" Tessa suggested. "I'm meeting with a buyer tonight."

"Can't, I've got a conference call with my boss. I've got an assignment in Africa in a few weeks and we're planning things. What about two nights from now?"

"Ah, that won't work for me ..." Tessa sighed.

"Damnit," Atsuko rolled her eyes. "Kenshin and I were going to take a bit of a road trip before I have to go back to work -- we're leaving in three days. Akane's going to head down to San Francisco as soon as she gets out of the hospital, so there's nothing really tying us here as soon as she's gone."

Tessa hugged her, "Don't worry about it. We'll keep in touch. Send me post cards."

"I will, I will." Atsuko assured her.

Tessa added, to Kenshin, "Giving Mac some space might not be a bad idea, either, Ken. Mac doesn't actually stay mad forever, it only seems like it. I'd give him about a month and then approach him and I imagine he'll have calmed down a bit."

"Why's he so mad at Kenshin?" Tessa asked.

"I don't think he's that mad at Kenshin, Atsuko. Mac's lost a lot of friends recently. I think Kenshin just managed to hit a few of his buttons just right." Tessa sighed.

"I'll give him time, then," Kenshin said. "I won't be back for a few weeks anyway. After Atsuko leaves, I figure I'll do a bit of wandering -- it's been awhile since I've done that. I like to travel and see what I can see, that I do."

-------------------

"No, Toshio." Kenshin said, in Japanese. "I'm sorry, Toshio. She's not coming home."

He rolled his eyes at Atsuko, and she snickered. Very few people could annoy Kenshin to the degree that Toshio did.

He paced across the apartment as Toshio yelled; Atsuko could make out Toshio's occasional word from Kenshin's cel phone, clear across the room. The man was in rare form.

Kenshin said, "United States. San Francisco ... no ... he'll take care of her ... aa ... aa ... Toshio, I don't think that's wise ... no, Toshio, you don't need to come out here ... Soujiro is a friend, not a boyfriend ... I'll try to talk them into coming home for a visit but I can't guarantee it ..."

Atsuko winced. The thought of Toshio confronting Soujiro sounded like a remarkably bad idea.

"Toshio, I. Am. Not. Your. Dog!" Kenshin said, in a tone of voice that she'd rarely heard him use on family. "Toshio, _please__listen to this one._"

Silence from the phone. Kenshin had said that last bit in the same tone of voice she'd heard him use a few times on bad guys.

"_Thank you_. Toshio, Akane is not coming home right away. Akane may _never _come home."

Surprisingly, silence continued to reign from the phone.

"...take note that she is your daughter and she loathes you. What kind of father are you if your daughter cannot even stand to speak to you on the phone? You love her, yet you do not show it. With your harsh and cruel words you have made her hate the thought of even talking to you. Think about that!"

Kenshin pulled the phone away from his ear, and frowned at it. He tapped it once with his finger, and sighed, and said, "I thought the silence was too easy."

Atsuko giggled. She couldn't help it; Kenshin looked downright disappointed. "Lost the signal, huh?"

Kenshin shut the phone off and said, "It is most probably for the best, I suppose. I will send him an e-mail tomorrow." He sighed. "Some things need to be said to that man, and I've never managed to get him to stop talking long enough to start listening."

"You might try a gag."

"I might try a _letter_. Truthfully, I doubt the man listens to anything anyone says, least of all me."

"_Especially_ you. If he calls you a freak one more time, I swear I'm going to shove that phone of his down his throat." Atsuko sighed. "Let's go. You were on the phone with him for an hour ... we're going to be late for our dinner reservation."

Kenshin nodded. "Let me get my _sakabatou_ ..."

He disappeared into his bedroom to retrieve it from the rack by his bed; when he returned he was wearing the sword across his back and had his coat over his shoulder, but he also had a bamboo shinai in one hand. The shinai had a note attached to the handle with her name on it in kanji. "Do you know where this came from?"

"No. I've never seen it before."

"I would swear it wasn't there earlier, when I was taking my shower." Kenshin frowned at the shinai, "Doesn't seem to be dangerous, though."

"What a weird thing to leave here," Atsuko said, taking it from him. She pulled the note off -- it was tied on with a length of blue ribbon. The paper was handmade, and the note entirely in kanji. It read, simply, _"Atsuko-chan, I thought you might need this."_

Kenshin had gone curiously still. He reached for the ribbon, ran it through his fingers, eyes distant. He brought it to his nose, inhaled deeply, then said quietly, "She approves, Atsuko."

"Who? What? Who left this?"

"You know what you said to me about Kaoru not being rude and obnoxious?" Kenshin's eyes were dancing. He pulled his wallet out, to her surprise, and flipped it open to the thick stack of photographs he carried everywhere. "You're _more_ rude and obnoxious ..." she stuck her tongue out at him, "... but she had some fine moments herself. Including now, I would say."

"Kaoru?" Atsuko breathed out.

The room was silent, for a long moment. There wasn't any sense of a presence, no ghostly _ki_. They were utterly alone. _Kenshin said he often sensed her presence. Sometimes I felt a spirit about him as well. But she's not here now. Why?_

The very first photograph at the top of the stack of photographs was a small hand-tinted picture of a teenage Kaoru. It was old, and worn, but still clear. Kaoru was perhaps seventeen or eighteen in the picture, and was dressed in a kimono and slippers -- and she had a shinai in one hand. The woman was smiling; it wasn't the small, dignified smile that Atsuko would have expected of a woman of that era in a photograph, but an ear-to-ear tomboyish grin.

Atsuko glanced at the shinai in her hand, and a small chill ran down her spine. "You really think ..."

Kenshin closed his hand around the ribbon. "I _know_." He paused, and added, "She used to hit me over the head with that thing. Regularly. I generally had it coming, too."

"I couldn't hit you!" Atsuko protested.

"Please don't," Kenshin said, "you wield words far better than you wield a shinai, that you do."

"Thanks. I think." Atsuko said. Then she raised her voice and said, "Kaoru? Thank you."

There wasn't a response, but then, she wasn't expecting one. Kenshin, however, shook his head, "She's not here. I think perhaps she has moved on and leaving us the shinai was her way of saying goodbye."

--------------------

A month later, Kenshin pulled up to the curb in the alley behind the shop, parked, got out of the truck. It was snowing, big fat wet flakes blown by a damp cold wind. Probably, it would snow harder later. It was already starting to accumulate.

The antique shop was dark, upstairs and down, despite the fact that it was only six in the evening. Even the lights over the door were out. He leaned over, opened the truck's glove compartment, and retrieved a flashlight. In the alley, his boots crunched in the snow and the flashlight shone weak and yellow.

He picked his way through the snow and ice to the shop's door. There were a dozen newspapers piled up in front of the door, and no sign of MacLeod -- no buzz from his Immortal _ki_. The shop had the indefinable feeling of emptiness indicating a building totally bereft of human presence. Richie and Tessa weren't home either.

He shone the flashlight around the door. It illuminated a "closed" sign, and a note below it, taped to the glass, that said, _Out of business. _

Stuck in one of the windows facing the street was a _For Sale _sign.

Kenshin sighed. _So this is why the phone is disconnected. Mac, Tessa, what happened?_

There was no clue, no hint, where they might have gone. He realized he didn't know anything about them, not really. _Where would they go? Who are their friends? Do they have another home somewhere? I don't even know how to begin to network to find them._

Kenshin sighed, returned to his truck, and sat in silence, thinking.

_I wish Atsuko was here, she might have some ideas. _

Atsuko had left for her assignment from LAX two weeks ago; he'd spent the time between then and now just driving thousands of miles across a whole continent and three separate countries. And thinking. He'd done lots of thinking.

He'd spoken to Atsuko once, late at night, on a connection that was scratchy and echoing. She'd sounded distant and lonely and he knew she was seeing terrible things in a far-away place. He could only trust in luck and skill to bring her home safely, to Tokyo, in the spring.

War. He knew war. And Atsuko had chosen to go right into the middle of one, to bring the truth of that war to the world. He'd seen several of her photographs in _Newsweek _and _Time _yesterday. She was doing what she believed in. Making a difference. Fighting for change.

_We're a lot alike, that we are, in that we both can't stand to see all the suffering and pain in the world, right before our eyes, without trying to change it. There's no way I could stop her from going, and I'm not sure I'd ever want to. _

_And if something happens to her, it'll break my heart, that it will._

He shook his head, brought his attention back to the problem of finding MacLeod. _Mac might be dead_, he thought with a hint of fear, then he reassured himself, _Thought given that he's survived four hundred years, I somehow doubt that. MacLeod's a survivor, that he is._

Most likely, MacLeod had just found it necessary to relocate in a hurry, Kenshin decided. Immortals sometimes had reasons for doing that, with 'suspected for murder' often the cause of a sudden change in residence. Kenshin sighed, and reached up to the ignition. He started the old truck, suddenly feeling every one of his years. MacLeod obviously wasn't here, and no amount of sitting around and worrying was going to change that.

He'd go home, to Tokyo. MacLeod had his cel phone number. If Mac had wanted him to know where he was, the man would have called. If Mac wanted to get in touch now, he easily could. And if Mac didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be.

Kenshin turned the truck towards the airport. He was finished here; he'd done his best and now it was time to move on.

-----------------


End file.
